Installment 45 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment045.png]
The urgency in Wikwocket's voice had Al quickly picking up his pack and heading for the door before he even started asking questions. Bote followed.
"What happened, is Gruntle hurt?" Al asked as the three of them jogged quickly outside.
"He fought a bear, Al! Of course he's hurt! This way! Hurry!"
"How did he end up fighting a bear?!" Al panted as he ran faster.
"I thought we were after deer again," Wikwocket tried to explain, gasping for breath after each sentence as she ran ahead to lead them down a game-trail into the forest west of the village. "Gruntle took some bread from the kitchen for bait. Deer like bread, right? Surprised the cook's yelling didn't wake you. We went into the woods and found a big tree. Gruntle tore the bread into a few big pieces, threw it on the ground, and got up in the tree. Bear showed up later and went for the bread, didn't see us, Gruntle gave me his collar and just dropped down on it. Then just lots of teeth and claws and blood. Ran back for help when it was over."
"How bad is he hurt?" Al gasped out.
Wikwocket took a couple of deep breaths to keep running before answering. "Should be okay. Got clawed side of head and hip, bitten arm, limping a little."
"Why do we need to carry him back then?" Al panted.
"Not him. Bear. Never tasted bear. Want to eat it. Taking forever to drag it."
Al slowed to a stop and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Wikwocket noticed and stopped as well, looking grateful to not have to run any more.
"Why are we running?" Al finally said.
"I just thought you were as excited as I was!" Wikwocket answered. "We're going to eat a bear! Doesn't that just sound amazingly heroic?"
Bote caught up to them, somewhat less out of breath having followed at a more reasonable jog. "She's right, you know. Joined a gnoll clan, freed the land of banditry, slew the demonic flesh-beast of Henhaven, outwitted the wily baron, and ate a bear. Yes, all of those appropriately have the adventurer-nature, in my opinion."
"You see, Bote understands! You should try to be wise like them, Al!"
After resting for a few minutes, they set out again at a more reasonable hiking pace. It took about twenty minutes to run into Gruntle. He had his long arms wrapped around the dead bear, digging his short claws into the hide for grip, and his teeth clamped onto the bear's neck. He was stubbornly dragging it backwards towards Henhaven a few feet at a time. Aside from obviously favoring his right leg, he gave no hint that he even noticed the injuries Wikwocket had described. His ears twitched in their direction as they approached and he turned to face them.
"Biggest meat," he growled, as best Al could tell. It was hard to understand since Gruntle didn't seem to want to unclamp his jaws from the bear's neck.
"Yes, yes, it's very impressive. We ran out here to see it and everything. Now let me carry it back for you so we're not waiting all evening," Al said. When Gruntle hesitated, he added, "Or I can carry you and the bear. You can sit on top of the bear and ride back to the village like a conquering hero, or whatever."
Al didn't wait for a response. This would be a good chance to further test his experimental wizardry. He conjured up his improved version of the...magic invisible cart, adjusting the pattern to make it hold more weight. He judged they should be able to get back to the village before it ran out, if his estimation was correct. He gestured for Gruntle to put the bear atop it. The gnoll heaved the bear's carcass up and slammed it down onto the shimmering disk.
"Perfect, now you," Al said. Gruntle eyed the magical surface suspiciously. He slowly put a hand out and tapped the top of it, then pulled his hand back. He gave Al an inscrutable look, and then finally crouched and leapt up onto the dead bear, making an effort not to touch the disk itself.
"Wait, me too!" Wikwocket shouted, and jumped to sit directly on the edge of the disk with her legs dangling over the edge. Al flinched at the unexpected additional weight, but relaxed when it held this time.
"I'd offer to let you sit on it too, but I'm worried we're getting near the limit of what it'll hold right now," he told Bote.
"It is just as well, I should keep my legs in practice for walking, as I suspect we will want to be on our way again soon."
"Yeah," Al agreed as they started marching back to Henhaven, "as much as I'm enjoying a chance to rest and do some research, I think I've accomplished about as much as I can for the moment, and I don't want to sit around too much longer and get lazy. The matter down in Turnipseed didn't seem urgent but we probably shouldn't put it off much longer anyway. We decided to come this way because it isn't where most of the adventurers are headed, but that doesn't mean there couldn't be some competition around."
"And, of course, if we do not leave soon, Wikwocket and Gruntle will ensure there are no deer, bears, rabbits, squirrels, or birds left to hunt anywhere, and they will end up fighting a pack of starving wolves," Bote added.
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"How many wolves in a pack?" Gruntle inquired.
"Too many!" Al answered insistently. "Please don't go looking for wolves. In fact if nobody objects, I'd like to see if we can head for Turnipseed tomorrow."
"If we can finish the necessary arrangements, of course. I agree, I feel our next task in the Ineffable Plans beckons us forward," said Bote.
"What arrangements do you mean?" Al asked.
"Eating a bear!" shouted Wikwocket triumphantly.
"That as well. But as we have discussed before, we can no longer simply carry our growing collection of possessions. Therefore, we must gain possession of a cart, provisions for our new donkey, and of course, we must give the donkey a name."
"What is this?" Gruntle interjected. Al turned back to see Gruntle pointing at the back of the bear he was sitting on.
"That's... that's called a 'bear'."
Gruntle huffed with annoyance and pointed more insistently.
"This meat. Strong-leg meat part," he grumbled.
"I think that's the 'haunch', right?"
"Haunch." Gruntle repeated. He nodded, satisfied, and returned to watching the path ahead.
"We'll get someone to cook that part up for you."
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The dead bear floating into town with a similarly-large gnoll riding atop it and accompanied by a cheerleading gnome, attracted a great deal of surprise from the villagers of Henhaven as they returned. The mid-sized buck Gertrude carted in later was hardly half the size of Gruntle's bear. She agreed to skin and butcher the bear, and was very grateful when they explained they just wanted to eat the meat so they let her keep the hide, bones, teeth, and anything else she wanted in exchange for the processing.
The dark, lean, nearly purple meat cooked up nicely and tasted surprisingly sweet. The irritable cook was even only mildly annoyed when they asked him to prepare it. Apparently, he was curious because he'd never cooked bear before, and he appreciated having a reason to be eating some himself, to make sure it was cooking up properly.
The villagers seemed to be simultaneously disappointed and relieved to hear that they were planning to leave the next day, despite several of them expressing skepticism that anybody would want to go to Turnipseed. The excitement Al and his party had brought to the village was probably more exhausting than entertaining for them by now, he assumed.
It turned out that one of the village hunters that had fallen victim to the beast had nobody to inherit what little property he owned, so the villagers readily awarded the poor man's cart to the group. It was little more than a narrow two-wheeled wooden platform with two poles sticking out of the front for someone to pull, but it had been sturdy enough to haul adult deer, so it looked like it would hold everything they'd collected so far. If they could get the donkey to pull the cart, travel would certainly be more comfortable.
The bear was eaten and rustic ale was drunk in a celebratory mood. Even so, Al retired early to do a bit more research. Auswelte Sachen had a fascinating discussion of primordial spiritual essences of otherworldly origin, and Al was uncomfortably certain that the next few days would have far too many disturbances to get much more reading done. Auswelte Sachen's chapters on the fundamental urges and desires of simple spirits across the Dreamlands kept Al fascinated until late into the night.
The dreams that night went through darkness, light, strange wild colors, and oblivion. The formless spirits in each place wanted different things, but there was one thing in particular that all of them wanted.
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It was Bote's quiet voice at prayer that Al followed back to wakefulness the next morning. He could never quite hear what Bote was saying, but the tone of voice always made Al think of gossip more than worship. He left Bote to their spiritual duties and quietly got out his wizardry notes to prepare for whatever they might run into on their travels further south to Turnipseed. Wikwocket and Gruntle both slept late after the gluttonous excess of the previous evening, but were both groggily stirring and mumbling about being hungry again by the time Al and Bote were done. They all gathered their things in preparation to leave, and went out to eat.
This morning, the tavern was emptier than Al had seen it since they arrived. There was just Rose, yawning after having let the previous evening's festivities run so late, and one older woman who Al realized he'd often seen sitting in the dimmest corner.
"Morning," Rose greeted them sleepily. "Bear's all gone but we've got eggs and venison if you're hungry."
"That sounds good," Al answered, to the general agreement of the others. "Looks pretty empty this morning."
"Oh, this is how it usually is this time of day. Looks like everything's getting back to normal, finally. Thanks again. I'll go bring out your food."
She went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with bowls of venison and scrambled eggs for everyone. Al gave in to his curiosity.
"Who is that over there in the corner?" he quietly asked Rose as she offered him a spoon.
"Oh, that's our brooding figure! Not a real tavern if you don't have one. Say hello, Susan!" she called out.
"Hello!" Susan answered cheerfully from her dark corner.
"Really? Shouldn't you have a hat or something to keep your face hidden?" Al asked her.
"Well, I have a cloak, but the hood's scratchy and uncomfortable."
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Al left the empty bookshelf in the common room, just in case anybody in the village ever had a book to put in it. The others let him distribute the books among all of the packs, and since nobody was going to need to carry them now that they had a cart, he did it. At least inside the packs, the books would be protected from the elements. Villagers who could spare some grain all pitched in to provide some fodder for the donkey who would hopefully be pulling their cart for them. They even found somebody that had some broken leather harnessing tack that Al was able to fix with another handy magic trick. They said their farewells and until-we-meet-agains to Rose, Susan, and the cook, the latter of whom gave them a grudging nod in return. Then with everything piled onto the old cart and with Wikwocket sitting on the front, they pulled it south down the main road to the last house.
The donkey seemed to recognize them. It walked over and stood by the fence, then bent down to bite off another clump of grass to chew on. It didn't react when Al spoke to it.
"Time to go, donkey, we're going on a trip. Don't worry, we'll feed you well and take care of you," he told it as it idly chewed its mouthful of grass.
"We cannot simply call him donkey, that would not be appropriate," Bote reminded Al.
"Oh, right, you wanted to give him a name. Well, any ideas?"
"Already said," Gruntle answered, surprising Al. "Haunch."
Wikwocket began to laugh, which Al took to be agreement.
"Haunch?" Al repeated skeptically. He turned back to look at the donkey, who had stopped chewing and was staring up at Gruntle, stalks of grass dangling from his mouth.
"That is a very strong name," Bote said with a hint of amusement.
Gruntle grunted. The donkey - Haunch - snorted back. He seemed well-domesticated, as he followed Al to the gate and let himself be put into the harness and hitched to the cart.
"Onward, brave adventurers and faithful steed!" Wikwocket shouted from a dramatic pose atop the cart, and they were off. It was a cool day, but the sunny skies and calm air made it feel warm. The ruts in the dirt kept the cart firmly centered in the road as they hiked towards Turnipseed.
It was as they approached the turnoff to Wulfcynn Keep that Haunch began to act nervous. He snorted sped up to a trot.
"Hey, slow down!" Al said, jogging to the side to avoid being run over, then speeding up again to try to keep up.
"Whoa, Haunch! Whoa!" yelled Wikwocket as she gripped the front of the cart to avoid falling off.
Haunch brayed and broke into a panicked gallop as they passed the turnoff. Gruntle, Al, and Bote ran after them as fast as they could, but Haunch and the cart, along with Wikwocket's receding cries of "Halt! Whoa! STOP!", shrank in the distance.
Al almost ran into Gruntle when the gnoll stopped suddenly. Seeing Gruntle crouch and turn back, unlimbering his flail and shifting his shield down to a ready position, Al reached for his mace.
"Stalking us," Gruntle growled, intently watching the brush along the road with a growing manic grin.