Making A Splash

Chapter 12

■

Felda’s bed was, as always, warm and comfortable. Felda, herself, was also warm and comfortable, dozing peacefully beside me with one arm draped over me. The window was left open just a crack to let in fresh, cool night air that made the cozy confines of the blankets all that much more appealing. It was, objectively speaking, the perfect conditions for sleeping in.

So it was with no small amount of frustration that I found myself staring up at the darkened ceiling of Felda’s bedroom in the middle of the night, completely unable to fall back asleep. There was not an ounce of drowsiness left in my body, but instead an overwhelming and growing urge to get up and start moving around, and fast at that.

“Stupid… cat brain…” I grumbled under my breath, losing track of the mental count I had going of how many minutes I'd spent trying fruitlessly to fall back asleep. There was no helping it; I needed to get up, and I needed to go run. I had made vague plans to start doing exactly that, so I supposed I should count myself lucky that this weird new urge, whatever it was, had waited until I was actually ready and able before it kicked in.

I pondered the fortunate timing of that while I slowly and carefully slipped out from under Felda’s arm and the blankets we shared, and slid off the far edge of the bed. Mindful of just how similarly things were playing out to the night before, I kept one ear trained on Felda’s slow breathing the entire time I was getting re-dressed. Thanks to that, I caught the exact moment that Felda shifted in her sleep, noticing my absence even while unconscious, and heard her breath hitch sharply.

“I'm here,” I whispered, just as she started to sit up, appearing at the edge of the bed beside her.

“By the—!” Felda jolted, then immediately caught herself and clamped her mouth shut. Holding a hand to her chest, she lowered her voice to a whisper and called out. “Sam!”

“Sorry!” I said, trying with everything I had not to let the smile on my face be heard in my voice.

“I am seriously considering that bell again!” Felda said, sighing tiredly and turning to gaze in my general direction. “What are you doing up again? Is something wrong?”

“Well, uh, no, nothing is wrong, exactly,” I said, reaching out to lightly rest my hand on Felda’s upper arm. “It’s just that I… I can't get back to sleep at the moment. I need to… well, I think I need to go run for a little bit.”

“Run? What, outside?” Felda asked, frowning, then made a noise of understanding. “Oh, wait, yes, Bart mentioned this might happen occasionally… a sort of moon-madness that causes nightly jitters, something like that?”

Wait, what, really? So, now, on top of everything else, I was capable of coming down with a case of the late night zoomies? And what did that have to do with the moon?!

I nodded, then remembered Felda probably still couldn't see me, and said, “Yeah, that.”

“Well, I suppose there's no harm in it,” Felda said, finally starting to relax again, leaning back against the headboard of her bed and reaching up, first to pat my shoulder in return, and then my head. “You can take the window again; I know I don't have to tell you to be careful. I'll have to see about getting an extra key to the back door made for you, if this is going to be a regular thing.”

“Oh, uh, okay, that'd be great,” I said, and after a momentary mental debate, leaned over and gave Felda a quick hug. It was still a surprise to me just how quickly I'd become accustomed to the physical contact after only a few days, but, what could I say? Hugs were nice.

Felda returned the embrace tightly before allowing me to slip away, padding silently across the floor to the window. I eased it open, then paused with one leg up on the sill and turned back to Felda.

“I'll seeya when I get back,” I said.

“Take care, Sam,” Felda replied with a tired smile, laying back down and lifting the blankets back over her. “Enjoy your run, and please try not to get in trouble with the night guards.”

The who? I had no idea what Felda meant, but I also didn't want to ask more questions and drag this out even longer, so I just nodded and slipped out the window, closing it just enough that I’d still be able to get my fingers into the gap when I returned.

Standing up on the gently sloped awning outside of Felda’s window, I took a deep breath of refreshing, salt-scented night air and walked to the edge, dropping down into the little gap between the Crooked Hook and the neighboring building.

I considered the docks, but just as quickly ruled them out. As quiet as I could be, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to run on them without making a lot of noise, so I turned to the left instead and stepped out onto the moonlit streets behind Felda’s tavern. The first thing I noticed was that there actually were street lamps here, ones I'd never had reason to notice during the day, but now stood out as oases of light amidst the dark of the night. They were simple metal poles, evenly spaced in rows and topped by glass walled lanterns with a wide, conical brim that funneled the light into a wide circle around the base of the pole. I could also see several orbs of differently colored lights flitting around the poles like insects, flashing like fireflies.

“Well, I guess I should just… get going?” I said, my breath very faintly misting in the air. With a start, I snapped my fingers. “Wait, no, better stretch first. Morgan would kill me if she found out I skipped that part.”

Self-consciously checking either end of the street, I dropped into the quick warmup routine that Morgan had taught me during the short-lived period of time when I tried to get into martial arts along with her. I worked through the simple stretches, both seated and standing, then spent a minute loosening up my arms and shoulders, and finally finished off with some jumping jacks. To my surprise, I began to feel that same mysterious, invigorating standing-in-a-sunbeam-in-the-middle-of-a-field sensation that marked the blessing I'd received earlier, warming me up despite it being the dead of night.

“Huh, kinda thought that would’ve worn off by now…” I said, scratching my head and looking up towards the sky, for lack of anywhere better to look, and called out, “Uh, well, thanks!”

With my preparations complete, I turned and started moving down the street at a brisk but careful walk. As effortlessly easy as it had been to get used to this new body so far, I didn’t want to test my luck by trying to push it to its limits and wind up hurting myself. When I reached the first light pole, I picked up my speed, ramping up to a light jog, and then did so again at the next light, my hesitation evaporating like puddles after the rain in the face of just how good it felt to move.

“Wh…whoa!” I gasped, once again pulling myself back before I could reach top speed. I was actually finding it harder not to run full out, especially because that was exactly what my body seemed to want, but I knew I had to pace myself if I wanted this run to last.

I was approaching the first intersection that connected this southernmost street with the village proper, moving at a decent clip, when a new ring of light spilled around the corner, followed shortly after by its source; three figures, walking side by side and each carrying a lantern. I recognized them, or rather, their uniforms; blue and green trimmed clothes under lightweight leather armor with a turtle stamped on the chest. They were the town guards I'd regularly caught glimpses of, passing by the watch tower in the morning with Bart.

I had been slowing down slightly to take the upcoming turn, but was still moving too fast to avoid skidding to a stop and stumbling a little when their attentions all fixed on me, leaving me hunched forward grasping my knees and panting slightly.

“Halt! Who goes there!” barked one of the guards, a young gangly man with a short brown mop of hair cut in a way that I could only describe as “scruffy,” raising his lantern higher while resting his other hand on the hilt of the short sword at his waist.

“Ah, pipe down, Rogers,” the woman standing in the middle of the group admonished, waving a hand in my direction. She seemed older than the other two, but it was hard to tell, because she was a dwarf, which put her closer to my height. Her skin was the color, and texture, of red sandstone, and was flecked with what looked like chunks of rubies. Her dark red hair was woven into a tight braid that was then piled high into a bun and pinned in place by two large pins. “Ya’ can see damn well who she is.” Turning to narrow her sharp eyes at me in scrutiny, she said, “You’re that cat lass that’s had everyone in a tizzy the last few days, aintcha?”

“Y-yeah, that’s me,” I said through panting breaths, standing up straight and raising my hand to give a little wave. “Name’s Sam.”

“Captain Caroline Conneley, at your service, lass,” she said, giving me a little bow of her head, then nudging Jones with her elbow and motioning for him to lower his lantern. “These disrespectful louts are my privates, Jones and Rogers.”

“Evening,” the third guard, who by process of elimination had to be Rogers, said. A cheerful-looking man about the same age as the first, with neatly trimmed blonde hair combed back over his head, he returned the wave and flashed me a sympathetic smile. “Don't mind the captain.”

The captain, Caroline, stepped a little closer, tilting her head to the side and squinting her eyes at me. “Now then, what’s got you so out of breath?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, chuckling to ensure she didn’t get the wrong idea. “I was running.”

“Runnin’?” Caroline asked, a frown forming on her face, her eyes flicking to the street behind me.

“Oh, no, no, I wasn’t running from something,” I said, holding up my hands and shaking my head. “No, I’m running for, uh, exercise? Like, to get into shape, y’know?”

“Ah!” the captain said, snapping her fingers and grinning. “You’re training, then? At this hour?” Glancing back over her shoulder, she called to the other two, “Hear that, boys? You two could probably learn somethin’ from this girl!”

“What, like how to lick our—” Rogers began to mutter under his breath, but was cut off by Jones throwing his free arm around his shoulder, jostling him roughly.

“You said it, captain, that’s some dedication!” Jones said, laughing in an obvious attempt to cover his partner’s comment.

“Well, to be fair, I’m only doing it this late because I’m, uh, a catkin,” I said, motioning to my ears and giving one a quick flick. It really was a fun maneuver, and I often found myself just doing it from time to time for no real reason other than to feel the novel sensation. “I'm like, partially nocturnal.”

“That a fact?” the captain asked, bringing a gloved hand up to her chin. “Hmm, just like that owl lass who works at the paper store then. Heh, wish we had a couple more a’ yer kind to fill out the ranks in the watch. It’d make these night patrols a lot easier to schedule, fer one thing.”

“Oh, come off it, captain,” Rogers said, swatting Jones’ arm off his shoulder and stepping forward, motioning at me. “She's done up all in black in the middle of the night, ain't that a bit suspicious?”

“Hmm, ya ain’t wrong…” Caroline hummed, stroking her chin again before her eyes narrowed and a smirk spread across her face.

“Maybe she's just out on business fer Lady Sera, eh?” she said, causing Jones to let out a groan. He wasn't alone; I also snorted and rolled my eyes. That was twice in less than a day that I'd had to hear almost the exact same joke.

Back at the temple, while we were visiting the alcove dedicated to Soliel and Sera, Mel had explained the odd thing that Fynn had said as he was leaving, about putting in a good word with the night goddess.

“It's because of your new outfit,” she'd explained, tugging lightly on my shirt. “Black cats are one of Sera's symbols. It's said they serve as her eyes and ears in the mortal world. If you see one at night, it's considered good luck, and a good opportunity to offer a quick prayer if you're one of her followers. You're probably going to hear a lot of jokes like that over the next couple days.”

“But… my fur is orange,” I'd protested, waving my tail in front of me.

Mel just chuckled and shrugged. “I said it was a dumb joke.”

“Still, though,” Caroline spoke again, bringing me back to the present. “Ya’ are a newcomer around here, so I s’ppose a bit of due diligence is in order. Would ya mind, just for tonight, letting these two accompany ya for a while? If anythin’, they'll make sure none of the other patrols hassle ya, and I'll get the word spread that ya ain't up to no good.”

“Oh, uh, sure, I guess that's alright,” I said, glancing at the pair.

“Aw, c’mon, captain,” Rogers said, slumping forward and groaning dramatically.

“Oh hush,” Caroline said, turning around and slapping a slab-like hand on the sour-faced man's back. “A little extra runnin’ won't kill ya, and I’ll treat you two to a hearty breakfast once your shift’s up.”

That seemed to get through to the man, and though he grimaced, he still brought his hand up to his temple in a lazy salute. “Fine, fine, we’ll watch the catgirl.”

“We'd be happy to accompany you, Miss Sam,” Jones said with a smile, also turning to give the captain a much snappier salute as she passed by, continuing on her way down the street I’d just come from. That left me alone with the pair, and I cleared my throat, pointing up the street.

“Well, I was on my way up to the main street, so, follow me I guess,” I said, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I was itching, actually itching, to start moving again, and started walking as soon as they both looked ready to go. “I'll try not to go too fast or anything.”

“Psh, please,” Rogers scoffed, arching an eyebrow at me. “With legs that short, I'd be surprised if we don't leave you behind.”

“You'll have to forgive him,” Jones said sympathetically, marching at my other side. “He gets grumpy when he hasn't had enough sleep. Plus, he’s more of a dog person.”

“T-That's got nothin’ to do with it!” Rogers protested, his face flushing suddenly.

Chuckling, I shrugged and started to pick up my pace again. “That's fair. S'not like I can argue; my legs are really fucking short.”

It had not escaped my notice that even though Rogers stood a head taller than Jones, together the pair of them were both taller than me. In fact, aside from Nils, and now Caroline, I hadn't met anyone else even close to my height yet. Not like I was complaining or anything. If Elle was to be believed, my diminished height was just another facet of my transformation at the hands of the gods, and if I were being truly, deeply, completely honest, I didn't actually hate it.

That didn't mean I had to take the short jokes lying down, though.

The pair of them were easily keeping up with me as I worked back up to a slight jog. I picked up the pace just enough to gain a lead on them, causing them to follow suit, shifting from a fast walk to an actual run. Glancing to either side, I found Jones giving me a broad smile, while Rogers’ face was fixed into a determined frown. He caught me looking, and the frown deepened.

Up ahead, the paved main street came into view through the night gloom, and I called out, “Heads up, gonna turn right here.”

A pair of grunts answered me, and as the packed earth gave way to stone, I swerved right and picked up speed again, leaving a growing gap between me and the two guardsmen.

“Oy!” Rogers squawked behind me, speaking between panting breaths. “F-Fred… stop ‘er! She's… makin’ a break for it!”

“I don't know, Neil,” replied his partner in a more even tone, and I could hear the grin in it without even having to look. “She's pretty quick, I don't know if I can catch her at this point.”

Turning to look back over my shoulder, I couldn't help but play along, cupping a hand around my mouth and shouting back, “I'm gonna go commit so many crimes!”

Felda’s words, asking me not to get in trouble with the night guards, flashed across my mind. I was… pretty sure this didn’t count, right? We were just having a bit of fun, right?

“F-fuh… fine! Hold my bloody lantern!” Rogers shoved the offending item into Jones’ hand and broke into a full-on sprint.

Yelping and laughing, I faced forward again and leaned into the wind, my arms and legs pumping as hard as they could to stay ahead. I had to hand it to Rogers; now that he'd gotten serious, he was actually gaining on me, judging by the way his heavy booted footfalls were steadily growing louder over the rush of blood in my ears.

I almost decided to let him catch me, as I figured I was at my limit, but my body screamed otherwise, ensuring me that I could still go faster, still escape, but not like I was now.

“G-gotcha!” Rogers’ voice came from directly behind me, and I felt a wash of deja vu as fingers brushed uselessly against the very tip of my tail. I caved, and let my body's instincts take over, and I—

I tripped.

At least, that’s what I thought happened when I went pitching forward suddenly, my hands flying up in front of me. I braced myself to hit the street hard and go skidding across the stones, but instead, my body just transitioned smoothly to a loping, horizontal run, my torso perpendicular to the ground and my arms moving in sync with my legs. Panic gave way to shock, and then, elation, as I went barreling ahead, moving faster than I ever had.

I'd only gotten a taste of it before, running from Duke, but it was shockingly easy to adjust to this strange new method of locomotion. Just like with using and manipulating my new appendages, or my suddenly increased acrobatic skills, it was like my muscles had memories that I didn't. After only a few seconds where my body seemed to continue on autopilot, I found I was moving on my own again, as naturally as if I’d been running like this since before I could walk.

I was so caught up in the fascination of unlocking another new weird cat power that I almost missed that I was running out of road. Up ahead, a towering wooden archway was closing in, marking the “entrance” of the village propper, and the point where the paved main street gave way to the wider dirt road that stretched away into the village outskirts and the countryside beyond. Not wanting to actually go speeding off into the horizon and leave the two guards behind, I started to slow down, pushing myself back to my feet and enduring a weird half second of vertigo as I half-ran half-stumbled into the archway, slumping against one of the wooden posts and panting hard.

About half a minute later, Jones and Rogers finally caught back up with me, both panting as well, the latter’s face completely red and drenched in sweat as he hung off the shoulders of the former.

“Yoooou…” Rogers gasped, pointing a shaky finger at me. “You… you…”

“Give him a minute,” Jones said, pushing a canteen into Rogers’ shaking hand. The man cursed, but still accepted, unscrewing the cap and upending the container, taking big greedy gulps.

Ah, shit, I’d not thought to retrieve my canteen from my satchel before leaving. Something to remember for next time. Though, as luck would have it, situated on the first street corner after the archway was an oversized wooden barrel, sitting propped up at a slight angle in a four-wheeled cart. Bart had mentioned these and Elle and Mel had shown me a few of them; public water supplies, maintained and refilled regularly by the druids. Perfect.

I made my way over on wobbly legs and bent down, wondering if I should try catching some water in my hands, or just hold my mouth open under the spigot, when Jones stepped up beside me, holding out a well-worn metal cup.

“Here, use this,” he said, and I nodded my head and wheezed my best thanks, taking it and quickly filling it from the tap, knocking back the ice cold water.

“Ooooh, that’s good,” I groaned, taking several more cupfuls before I finally felt less like a wrung out towel. I filled the cup one more time and splashed it over my head, gasping and shuddering, and handed the cup back to Jones.

“Thanks again,” I said, brushing my hair back out of my face.

“You’re most welcome,” he said, slipping the cup back into a loop on his belt.

By now, Rogers had drained the entire canteen dry, and recovered his breath enough to quietly grumble, “I woulda had you there ya lousy, cheatin’...”

“C’mon Neil, be a good sport,” Jones said, walking over and slapping his friend on the back with a grin. “You should just consider yourself lucky she didn’t trick you into wagering coin after that pigheaded remark. You know you would’ve taken that bet.”

Oh, shit, he was right, I should have done that! Though, to be fair, I didn’t know I had a secret turbo mode until now, but maybe next time…

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Rogers huffed, passing the empty canteen back to Jones and clearing his throat, marching stiffly up to me and crossing his arms over his chest. He stared down at me, and I saw him making a concerted effort not to let it turn into a glare.

For my part, I stared right back at him and did my best not to look smug, but between the catharsis of leaving him in the dust and the endorphins from running full tilt, it was difficult not to break into a full-on grin.

“Y’got some slick moves, girl,” Rogers finally said, uncrossing his arms and sticking his gloved hand out. “Suppose we should be glad you ain’t actually a troublemaker, like some people ‘round here think… you ain’t, right?”

“I have no plans to cause any trouble for anyone,” I said, reaching up to shake the offered hand. Well, except for Bentley and his jerk friends, but I probably didn’t need to tell them that.

“Good, good,” Rogers said, clearing his throat again and looking around. “So, are you plannin’ on running any more tonight, because if so, I’m just going to tell the captain we lost you and take the punishment.”

“Oh, hell no,” I said, laughing and reaching down to slap the sides of my legs. “I think I burned off all the extra energy I needed to in one go, so I should probably start heading back home.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Rogers sighed, holding his chest.

“Great!” Jones said cheerfully, pointing down the street. “You live dockside, right? We’ll accompany you back to South Street.”

With that, we set off again, this time at a comfortable walking pace, back towards the first intersection. Conversation was light, as it seemed the exhaustion was catching back up not only to me, but Rogers as well. Jones still asked me a few innocent questions along the way though; how I liked the village so far, how the fishing was going, whether I’d had any trouble getting acclimated to the area. That last one was slightly less innocent, as I could tell he was actually trying to fish (ha) for information on where I came from before arriving here, but thankfully I now had plenty of context to more effectively bluff my way through questions like that.

Eventually we returned to the intersection and bid each other farewell, and I headed back towards Felda’s tavern, feeling more and more ready to climb back into bed with every step. I was glad I’d remembered to stretch, but I could tell I was still going to be feeling this in the morning. Reaching the side alley of the Crooked Hook, I was doubly glad for whoever left so many barrels strewn around this place for me to climb on, as I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to get back up to the roof without one.

I crawled carefully back in through the window, changed back into my pajamas, and slid back into the bed, suppressing a satisfied groan at how great it felt to return to the warmth.

“Mmh… welcome back,” Felda muttered sleepily without opening her eyes, making space for me under the blankets again. “How was your run?”

“Good…” I whispered back, before an impressively wide yawn escaped me. I was feeling overly conscious of the fact that I’d worked up quite a sweat out there, which in turn had me realizing I hadn’t had any kind of a bath since I’d arrived in this world, so I tried to leave a bit of an extra gap between myself and Felda, which she of course closed just by rolling over.

“A-ah, I didn’t get to wash, I’m sorry if I…” I tried to apologize, but Felda just let out a tired chuckle and brought a hand to rest on the top of my head.

“Sam, I’ve smelled sailors that have spent months on a ship without dipping so much as a toe in the water,” Felda said, lazily scratching between my ears. “I’m sure you’re used to different standards, but down here, people are a bit more forgiving, up to a point. But, if you’re still worried, then maybe tomorrow you can ask the girls if they want to visit one of the bathhouses.”

Oh…

Right, those. I’d almost forgotten, but Felda had mentioned the public baths, all the way back on my first day. I tried to tell myself at the time that that would be Future Sam’s problem, but now Future Sam was Present Sam, and I was silently cursing Past Sam for not being proactive enough in searching for any possible alternatives to bathing in front of a bunch of strangers.

Though, I wouldn’t be going alone. Felda had been the one to suggest asking Elle and Mel, so it wouldn’t even be that weird… okay, no, it would still be weird, but maybe it would be less weird now than if we’d gone for a bath together before they asked me out, but what did it say that our, what, first date was going end up with us all naked in a hot tub?

I couldn’t tell if I should be excited or terrified, and unfortunately I drifted off back to sleep before I could come to a decision.

■

I awoke, once again, to Felda’s gentle urging that Bart would arrive soon. Sure enough, I was feeling that unmistakable muscle ache that came after a strenuous workout, mostly in my legs but also in my back and arms as well, as I stretched out across the oversized bed. While Felda left to go whip up a quick breakfast, I rolled over onto my feet and got dressed, then went searching for my satchel and the journal inside it.

Since I finally knew what all the days of the week were, and mostly how the calendar worked, I’d decided to make a habit out of manually keeping track of the days until I could remember and recall them intuitively. Counting backwards from today, which was “Colday the fourteenth, first-quarter of summer,” I noted and wrote out the previous three days I’d spent in this world until I reached what was technically my first night, even if I was unconscious for all of it. The evening of Serday the tenth, when I’d fallen from the sky, landed in the ocean, and been dragged out by Bart.

“Huh… wonder if that makes that my new birthday, or something,” I muttered to myself as I stared at the page, a mix of still-unfamiliar words and terms and snatches of Elle and Mel’s explanations from the day before. My old birthday was in spring, but there was no possible way I could match up that date with one from this world, so maybe I should have a date in mind in case anyone ever asks. Then again, I didn’t know if people here even celebrated birthdays the same way.

Stolen story; please report.

Sighing, I stowed my journal and finished getting dressed, grumbling a little at every minor twinge in my muscles. As Morgan would say, that was just the feeling of them healing, coming back stronger and ready to be pushed even harder next time, and for once that thought actually kind of excited me. I still felt like I had pitifully shallow stamina reserves, but I could already pull off some incredible feats of reflexes and acrobatics, so the thought of getting even better filled me with determination.

Bart was as quiet as ever as we both wolfed down our breakfasts, to Felda’s mild disapproval. We departed the tavern for the bait shop, intent on following the plan Bart and I had discussed the night before.

“Only a few minnows today,” Bart told Hubert, who set about filling our bucket while Bart led me over to the left side wall of the shop, where the wall was taken up by various glass tanks containing an abundance of things that wriggled and squirmed.

“As I said, today you’ll be hunting for different prey, and for that you’ll need different bait,” Bart said, producing several empty metal tins, like the one he kept his trail mix in. “You’re doing well with the perch already, but we’ll stick to panfish for now. That lake is also home to green solfish, pumpkinseed, bluegill, and rock bass, and no matter which one you’re after, you can’t go wrong with the humble worm.”

Bart handed me the tins and had me hold one up while he used a metal scoop to gather up a small mass of worms and soil from three of the tanks, while explaining, “We’ll bring a bit of each of the three most common varieties; red, brown, and black.”

“Does the color actually make that much of a difference?” I asked, leaning slightly away as Bart topped off the container with another scoop of dirt, then replaced the lid with one that had air holes punched in it.

“No,” Bart said, chuckling. “Most fish aren’t particularly picky eaters, not until you start hunting for specific rare breeds and subspecies, but at your level you’re mostly going to be handling minnows, worms, and”—Bart took a step down the line, patting the lid of a closed metal box—“grubs. Like these brown moth larvae here.”

“Blegh,” I said, already scrunching up my face in anticipation as Bart lifted the lid, showing me the dark interior of the box, which swarmed with hundreds of tiny pinkish grubs. “A lot less appetizing than the minnows.”

“Well, you say that—” Bart began, and I jabbed a clawed finger at him.

“Don’t you even dare!”

Chuckling in a way that did not at all set my mind at ease, Bart filled another of the empty tins with a small scoopful of grubs. This was starting to feel like the toppings station at the world’s worst ice-cream bar.

“Well, that should be enough for today,” Bart said, pocketing the filled tins and turning to head back to Hubert for our minnows, but I stopped him again.

“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand and scanning the row of tanks. Bart turned back, looking at me curiously, and I shook my head. “I know we still have a lot of time before the competition, but… I need to get better, faster. I wanna try for something bigger than a panfish today too.”

Bart spent a moment studying me, and I was almost certain he was about to refuse, to tell me it was unwise to push myself or something like that. Instead, a rare smile appeared on his face and he turned and called out, “Hubert? Would you fetch us some chicken livers too?”

“Y’think she’s ready for that?” Hubert asked, turning and bending down to reach for something behind the counter without waiting for an answer.

“We’ll find out, I suppose,” Bart said, glancing back at me. I tried my best to give him a determined glare, but his amused chuckle told me it probably still needed work.

Hubert returned from behind the counter, revealing a bundle of fleshy, reddish-brown lumps in a frost-coated container. He separated out a small pile and wrapped them in a strip of cloth before passing it off to Bart, who in turn dropped it into another tin.

“What’re those for?” I asked, accepting the minnow bucket from Hubert, thankful that it was feeling a little bit lighter today.

“You’ll see,” Bart said, annoyingly enigmatic, and I rolled my eyes as heavily as I could.

I spent the first third of the walk out to the river needling Bart to just tell me the answer, but he was determined to keep it a mystery, so I gave up, and instead focused on just putting one foot in front of the other and not spilling the bait bucket. Arriving at the lake, we set up quickly, Bart filling the ice chest while I retrieved my rod and checked that nothing looked out of place, mostly making sure my line hadn’t twisted or started to tangle. The sight of Bart using magic to produce the ice again did briefly distract me, now that I knew more about how magic worked, but I shook it off; I had fishing to focus on!

“Let’s start with what you already know,” Bart said, standing and ushering me towards the edge of the lake. “Bring in a few perch to get yourself warmed up, then we’ll switch to the worms and I’ll tell you about the new fish as you go.”

“Got it,” I said, kneeling over the bait bucket. Inspired by last night’s run, I paid particular attention to the way I moved my arm and tensed my fingers as I plunged my hand into the cold water and plucked one startled minnow from the pack with no more difficulty than picking up a dropped quarter. I was now fairly confident that I could pull that move off with anything, not just fish, but now wasn’t the time to test that. I sat on the ice chest and baited my hook, then cast my rod near the far edge of the lake and sat back to wait for my first bite of the day.

Bart and I sat in comfortable silence as the first bite came and went, along with the second and third. I reeled in each perch with a short, but satisfying fight. As much as I was still enjoying myself, I was quickly coming to realize that, as ridiculous as it seemed, I wasn’t feeling as challenged by the smaller fish as I had been at the start. I was glad I’d be going for a few different types today, but the thing I was most looking forward to was whatever those chicken livers were for.

“Hey, Bart,” I said as I handed off yet another perch for him to spike. I was up to six already, and the sun had just barely begun to rise, but my arms also needed a bit of a break, so I’d laid my rod down and took a seat in the grass.

“Hmm?” Bart hummed as he quickly and efficiently pierced the fish’s skull, adding it to the growing pile on top of the ice.

“I… well, there’s two things I wanted to talk about, and I can't decide which one to start with,” I said, turning away to pull the bait bucket over, lifting the lid to peer inside. “I wanted to… ask you for some advice, but also confess something, and I honestly can’t tell which order to do those in.”

“Ah,” Bart said at my back, since I was still looming over the minnows. I’d grabbed one already, intent on having just a quick snack to settle my nerves, but, well, that was three minnows ago. I heard movement, then Bart appeared, walking around the bucket and taking a seat across from me.

“Is this confession something you think will… anger me?” Bart asked casually, reaching into the bucket as well and snagging a minnow for himself, popping it into his mouth and chewing deliberately.

“Mmh… maybe? At least a little bit?” I said, shrugging. The fact that I actually had no idea how upset Bart or Felda would be to hear I'd been eavesdropping on them for days was part of what made the prospect of telling either of them so scary. But, I promised Elle and Mel, so, here I was.

“Then start with that,” Bart said, nodding and scooping another minnow from the bucket. Honestly, of all the bizarre changes I've taken in stride, casually scarfing raw minnows was one of the last things I ever expected I’d get used to.

“Are you sure?” I asked, and Bart chuckled.

“Sam, I will admit, I’ve been surprised by you before, but unless I’ve grievously misjudged your character I have serious doubts that you’re about to tell me something that will truly upset me,” Bart said, waving his hand in the air.

Eh. He was probably right. I'd seen Bart's temper tested, but I suspected it would take a lot more than this to really make him snap.

“Well, alright,” I said, shrugging and leaning back in the grass. “So… you know a little bit more about catkin than some people, right?”

“Aye,” Bart said evenly, though I noticed his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, the muscles in his face tensing.

“Then, you know that our hearing is… better than a human’s, right?”

“I do,” Bart said, nodding again, then after a moment of consideration, he continued, “that’s a good general rule of thumb for all… ah, almost all demihumans, that one or more of their senses are superior to the human baseline.” He seemed finished at that, but then hastily added, “Not that I think humans ought to be considered the baseline, of course, just, I'm a human.”

“Right, right,” I said, nodding along like I actually had a clue what he was talking about. “Well, the thing is, a catkin's hearing is actually… even better than you might think.” I still had my eyes on Bart's face, and I caught the exact moment the revelation came to him.

“Perhaps good enough, even, to hear a hushed conversation from a room away?” Bart asked, his brow slowly furrowing.

“Perhaps,” I said, biting my lip and starting to drum my fingers on the rim of the bait bucket. “Perhaps multiple conversions… over the past few days…”

“I see…” Bart said distantly, his eyes drifting to a point somewhere above my head. For the moment, he didn't seem to be upset. In fact, he almost seemed like he hadn't heard me at all, or like he was suddenly distracted by something else. With a snap, he shook his head and looked down at me again. “Ah, sorry, I… So, you've been listening in on Felda and I, is that what you're saying?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, tilting my head slightly at his odd behavior.

“And how much have you heard?” Bart asked, which was not what I expected his followup to be. Something in his tone sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“What?” I blinked, and scratched at the side of my head. “Uh, I don't know? It was mostly just whenever you two would go into the kitchen to talk about me?”

“Ah,” Bart said, his posture shifting subtly again, his shoulders lowering and his back becoming less rigid. “Is that all?”

I brought a hand to my forehead and ran it through my hair, blowing out a breath through my lips.

“I… I'm sorry, did we miss a step? I feel like you're supposed to be telling me off for doing something wrong here, but you’re not.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Bart said, clearing his throat a few times. “It is… very rude to eavesdrop on people, Sam, and you… did the right thing coming clean.”

I narrowed my eyes at him again, my mouth pulling into a tight line. He… he sounded like he was reading from a half-remembered script!

“You don't actually believe that at all, do you?” I asked, crossing my arms and giving him my most skeptical look.

“Of course I do,” Bart said, deftly avoiding my gaze. “It is very impolite to spy on people, but I understand you must have had your reasons, yes?”

“I… Well, the first time I did it it was mostly an accident,” I said, tilting my head back to look up at the sky, which was steadily gaining more and more color. “I woke up in a weird house, surrounded by strangers, and thought that any information I might be able to glean from listening in on you two would come in handy, but that doesn't really justify all the other times, does it?”

“Sam,” Bart said, drawing my attention back to him. “I think, given your circumstances, you did what you felt was right at the time to keep yourself safe, and I cannot blame you for that. Were I in your position, I would likely do the same.”

“Huh,” I said, looking down into the bucket again, just watching the minnows swim in little circles. For some reason, I didn't feel particularly like eating any more at the moment. There was an obvious question burning away in the back of my mind, and part of me wanted to just suffer the curiosity, but another part of me was pretty sure not asking would be the worse option.

“I kind of get the feeling that you’re only taking it this well because… there’s something else you thought I heard that I didn’t?” I said, hesitantly.

“Ah, well spotted.” Bart chuckled, and again, it did less to put me at ease than it should have. He spent several uncomfortably quiet seconds staring at the distant treeline and mulling over his response, before looking me dead in the eyes and saying, “Sam, you haven't lied to me, so I will not lie to you; there are certain topics of discussion between Felda and I that, had you overheard, we would be having a very different conversation right now.”

“Y-yeah, I kinda figured that,” I said, nodding, wishing my tail would stop flicking nervously behind me. It's not like I was scared of Bart, but it was like being unable to stop tapping your foot when you’re bored. “You kind of gave it away there. Well, I already told Elle and Mel I wouldn't misuse this, and I planned to make the same promise to you and Felda, but now I want to be extra sure I don't want to overhear whatever dark secrets you two have, especially with how… patient you’ve both been.”

“Oh, yes, Felda will need to know…” Bart hummed, bringing a hand to his stubbled chin and furrowing his brow. “When were you planning to tell her?”

“After this, or later tonight if I'm too tired when we get back.”

“Would you be alright if I spoke to her first?” Bart asked, and I furrowed my brow. Noticing my hesitation, he added, “I think it would go smoother if she knows ahead of time that you heard nothing of any real consequence.”

“I… yeah, that's probably a good idea.” I sighed and, since I was already supposed to be planning to visit the bathhouse later, flopped backwards onto the grass. “Damn, and here I thought that was going to be the easier topic.”

“Indeed?” Bart let out another, much less bone chilling chuckle across from me. “Well, I am sorry if I frightened you, Sam, but I did not wish to coddle you either. I would understand if you no longer wish to ask for my advice.”

“Eh… it's fine.” I spoke while staring up at the still brightening sky, shrugging my shoulders. “It's not like I've been an open book either, but, I think we can just… move past this.” Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I tried to mold the ambiguous blob of worries and hesitation I'd been carrying around for most of the morning into an actual question.

“Bart, this might be a… weird thing to ask, but… is it normal to get naked and take a bath with two people you just started a relationship with?”

Bart let the question hang in the air for a full ten seconds, before asking, “Could you be more specific? I understand you're referring to Elle and Mel and your recently established… situation, and presumably you plan to ask them to accompany you to the local public baths at some point, but I don't see which part of that strikes you as… ‘not normal.’ As I understand it, that is a fairly common practice in this nation.”

“Ooookay…” I sighed the word out, sitting up with a grunt and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I closed my eyes and just wondered for a moment if maybe I should've asked Felda, actually, but part of me figured it would go even worse with her.

“I guess you could say that sort've answers my question,” I said, opening my eyes and looking up at Bart. “Up until now I've just been kind of assuming based on context that people… around here are pretty comfortable with casual nudity in certain spaces, and I guess that confirms it.”

“Ah.” Bart made a noise of understanding, his eyes lightening. “And you are uncomfortable with that prospect?”

“You could say that, yeah,” I said, still rubbing my forehead. “Even though I know it’s mostly a… cultural difference, I can’t ignore the fact that I haven’t taken a bath with another person since I was… I don’t know, three?” I did feel kind of stupid for making such a big deal out of this. Hell, I even knew that this wasn’t just a consequence of coming to another world, I had heard of countries back on Earth with communal bathing before. That still didn’t help me be any less nervous.

“There’s also the fact that, well, I’m dating them now, and I don’t know the first thing about, uh, courtship or whatever you call it here, but where I came from people who are going out don’t usually see each other naked until they’re ready to, uh…” I trailed off as I ran out of steam, my nerves getting to me, and I buried my face in my hands. Could I not just focus on fishing for one day?

Bart cleared his throat again and I felt one of his hands land on my shoulder, lifting me from my hunched over position. “Sam,” he said, his face contorted uncomfortably. “I… cannot claim to be a master of social conventions myself. Where… I came from, courtship carries with it many firm rules and hidden intricacies that would seem stiflingly restrictive to someone from Torgard. In Kurma, it gets so hot, especially during the summers, that many people wear as little as possible, while in Yuusha, it would generally be considered impolite to show too much bare skin in public, no matter what the temperature.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, nodding slowly. He was basically explaining what I already knew, just framed through the lens of this world instead of my own. “Cultures are different everywhere so there’s no such thing as ‘normal,’ right?”

“Correct,” Bart said, lifting his hand from my shoulder and, with noticeable hesitation, moving to pat my head once before drawing back again. “Though, more to the point, you would not be alone in this world for feeling reluctant to bathe among strangers, even if that is considered unusual here. If that is your main concern, you can still request a private bath; even the meager facilities here in Rower’s Rest have those, though you’ll need to pay more for the luxury.”

“Really?” I asked, sitting up straighter, and Bart nodded with a slight smile on his face.

“Indeed. As for Elle and Mel, well, I’ll admit I don’t know the first thing about elven arrangements, but they seemed keen on preserving your comfort above all else, so you could simply go without them.”

Huh…

“That… hadn’t occurred to me,” I said, staring off to the side and furrowing my brow. He was totally right, I’d been counting on having Elle and Mel’s support, but now that I knew the bathhouses had private rooms, I could actually just go by myself, but… well… well it wasn’t like I hated the idea of going with the pair either!

“I think I have a whole new problem now, Bart,” I said with a heavy sigh, pushing myself to my feet. “But I also think I’ve gotta solve this one on my own, and we’ve wasted enough time already. Those fish aren’t gonna catch themselves.”

Bart laughed as he followed me to his feet. “That’s the spirit. Take a seat, and I’ll show you how to bait a worm.”

“Aye aye,” I said, grinning, and returned to the ice chest where I’d left my rod. I sat and Bart dug the tin of worms out of the tackle box, bringing it over to me and popping the lid. The rich scent of damp earth greeted me as Bart dug into the dark soil and pulled out a fat brown worm.

“There are two common methods of baiting a worm,” Bart began, kneeling on one knee before me with the worm in one hand and my hook in the other. “We’ll focus on the easier method today, known as ‘threading’ the worm. You’ll start by taking the head—that’s the darker, pointer end here—and piercing it with the hook.” Bart did so, sliding the now speared head of the worm slightly down the curve of the hook before continuing. “Next, you’ll want to do the same a little further down the length of its body, and continue until most of its length is supported by the hook, leaving just a bit left at the end to dangle and attract the fish’s attention. Depending on the size, you may need to thread it more or less times, but three to five is the usual.”

I watched as Bart repeated what he’d done with the worm’s head further down it’s body, and when he finished the worm was held bent in the shape of an “S” with extra curves, running along the length of the hook with a bit of its tail still miraculously wriggling from the very base of the hook’s first barb.

“I’m… really glad I know worms have even less of a brain than the minnows,” I said at the still somewhat grisly setup.

“As I’ve said, we do our best to cause only the harm that is necessary,” Bart said, using a rag from his pockets to wipe the dirt from his fingers. “The fact that you are still concerned, if even a little, for the wellbeing of something as simple as this worm is a good thing, Sam.”

Well, I couldn’t, and didn’t really want to, argue with that so I just sat up, raised my arms, and cast the worm into the center of the lake.

As I settled in to wait for the first sign of a bite, I felt my mind trying to return to the issue of the baths, and quickly shoved those worries away again, giving myself over to the quiet, meditative state of heightened anticipation that was the core of fishing to me. I breathed slowly, taking in the drifting scents of nature all around me, listened to the gentle burbling of the river on either side of the pond, and let my eyes glide aimlessly across the surface of the water.

Over the course of the next hour or so, I became acquainted with all four new types of fish Bart had named at the bait shop. The green solfish looked pretty similar to the yellow perch, with its green and black striped body, except more squat and compact, and its top fin was shorter than the perch’s. The pumpkinseeds did in fact resemble the teardrop-shaped seeds of their namesake, and the male’s scales were a brilliant, iridescent orange and blue, while the females tended to be paler. The bluegill wasn’t as blue as I’d been expecting, more of a cobalt gray with a white underbelly, but Bart told me they got more blue as they aged. Lastly, the rock bass, which was actually just another name for the black perch Bart mentioned before, was the hardest of the new fish to land. Not because they wouldn’t bite, but because it managed to put up a much more impressive fight than anything else that morning. When I finally pulled in my first rock bass, Bart actually congratulated me, as the specimen I’d snagged was pushing the boundaries of what could still be considered a “panfish,” weighing close to three pounds by his estimation.

I know, three pounds doesn’t sound like much, but that’s a lot for a fish!

“Well,” Bart said as he finished spiking the rock bass I’d spent the last few minutes fighting to wear out, adding it to the ice chest, which was now layered with almost twenty fish across five different species. “I’d say you’ve more than made up for yesterday.”

“We’re not done yet,” I said, even as I massaged some life back into my sore arms. Bart looked at me dubiously, but I held up one arm and did my best to flex hard enough to make my meager muscles visible. “Don’t worry, just give me a couple of minutes!”

“Very well,” Bart said with a smile, settling back in the grass. “I promised to let you try for something more impressive, so I shall. Let me know when you’re feeling recovered enough, but be warned, this will be no easy fight.”

“Got it,” I said. I continued to flex and twist and shake my arms out, then sat for a few minutes and just caught my breath. Bart pulled out his snacks; the trail mix, that I refused to call scroggin, and the jerky, and we shared a few mouthfuls. The sun was well and truly risen by now, even if we were still shaded by the far off mountain ranges that rose up beyond the forests surrounding the village. Mountain ranges that, I realized, were probably part of the shell of the giant turtle that this island was apparently formed from the back of. I hadn’t explored to the west of Rower’s Rest very much yet, but I had seen that the very same mountains that hemmed in the bay on the east also continued off into the west.

“Bart, d’you mind if I ask another weird question?” I asked, swallowing my last mouthful of jerky.

“Those seem to be the only type of questions you ask, so, go ahead,” Bart said, tucking the tins back into his coat pockets.

I chuckled at that and nodded. “Alright… so, Torgard’s a big turtle, right?”

For one terrifying nanosecond, my longstanding fear that I’d somehow let myself fall for an insanely elaborate prank reared its ugly head, before Bart answered, “Yes?”

I held back my sigh of relief and continued on to my actual question.

“Right, well, I couldn’t help but notice those mountains, and how we’re on the coast here, so… are we right on top of one of the legs, or something?”

I had yet to look at a map of Torgard itself, but thinking about the placement of things, I had started to assume.

“They’re actually flippers, but, yes,” Bart said, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Rower’s Rest is one of only four coastal towns on Torgard, each one situated at an opening in the shell, above one of its flippers. That’s also why those same four towns play host to the Midsummer Fishing Festival for all of their neighboring towns and villages as well.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking in surprise. If Rower’s Rest was one of only four spots to safely enter the island from ,that explained a couple things, like why the docks seemed so large even though there didn’t seem to be that much through traffic, and why there were so many different businesses and taverns right up on the docks themselves. That just left one more question.

“Which flipper is it, then?”

Bart laughed and looked at me curiously. “The back right, why?”

“Eh, just curious,” I said, shrugging and standing up, gently slapping one of my biceps. “Alright, I think I’m as ready as I’m gonna get, so what’s this mystery fish I’m after?”

Bart’s smile grew until I could actually see teeth, and he reached into the tacklebox, retrieving the tin with the chicken livers and giving it a shake. He opened the lid and poked his fingers in, withdrawing one of the pink, fleshy lumps.

“I thought it’d be the perfect prey to move you up to something more challenging,” Bart said, turning and underhand tossing the chicken liver onto the surface of the water. I expected him to continue, but it soon became clear he was pausing for what I realized was dramatic effect, so I just turned and kept my eyes on the gently bobbing piece of meat.

Time stretched on, and just when I was about to ask Bart what exactly we were waiting for, the stillness of the water was shattered by a fish about as long as my forearm leaping out of it. Its body was mainly white, but broken up by splotchy blobs of orange and black, and at first I thought it was some kind of huge koi fish, but then I took in the rest of the details. Trailing from either side of the fish's wide mouth were two pairs of whiplike tendrils, or whiskers. I could clearly see its eyes: huge, green, and vertically slitted. Just like mine, actually. And there were two extra triangular fins jutting out from the top of its head that resembled… a cat's ears…

I stood, speechless, as time seemed to resume and the fish flopped back into the water with a splash. Beside me, Bart clapped a hand onto my shoulder, and when I turned to look up at him he looked as pleased as I’d ever seen him.

“That’s right, you’re going to be hunting catfish!”

I stared up at Bart, while he grinned back at me, and it took everything I had not to turn my eyes skyward and shout “What?!” at the universe itself.

I'd seen pictures of catfish before, of course, so I knew the only parts of the creature I'd just seen that lined up with its Earth counterpart were the general size and shape, and the whiskers. Otherwise, it was more like… a ridiculous joke version of a literal catfish, like it had been purpose built that way on purpose for laughs. Which, I realized, was entirely possible.

“Cat… fish…” I mumbled, glancing back at the water again. Bart's cheerful demeanor immediately diminished, and he actually looked worried.

“I am sorry, that was intended to be a joke, have I… offended you again?” Bart asked, which finally broke through my stupor.

“N-no,” I said, failing to hold back a snort of laughter, my head falling into my hands, speaking between alternating laughs and groans. “No, no, that's… that's hilarious Bart, it just… just took me a second to realize you did it on purpose, ugh…”

In retrospect, it was kind stupid of me to assume that after three or four days that I had run out of ways to be surprised, by either Bart or the world itself.

“Ahh…” I sighed, getting ahold of myself again and turning back to Bart. “Thanks, I needed that. So, how do I go about catching some catfish?”

“Let's aim for one catfish first,” Bart said, motioning me back over to the tacklebox. “As adept as you've proven at catching panfish, I would be surprised, pleasantly surprised, mind, but still surprised, if we return to the village with more than a single catfish.”

“They're that tough to catch, huh?” I asked, kneeling down beside Bart as he took a knee and opened the box.

“They are a decent challenge, but the trouble is not in landing one on the hook; they're quite aggressive predators, but the real difficulty lies in trying to get one to shore without snapping your line or losing your rod.” Bart explained as he pulled a new fish hook from one of the compartments, one that was larger than the one I was currently using. Holding the new hook between his teeth, he used his knife to cut the old hook from the end of the line, then re-tied the knot with the larger hook, and kept speaking all the while. “I'll stick close to you in case I need to cut your line or grab onto you, so you just focus on the fight once it starts.”

“Uh, got it,” I said, glancing warily at the surface of the lake while Bart tied on the new hook. Sure, that fish had been big, but would it really be that strong?

“Alright, you're all set,” Bart said, standing up and retrieving the tin of chicken livers from his coat, passing it to me. “Just bait, cast, and then hold on.”

I nodded, taking the metal container and approaching the shoreline with Bart in tow. I dug one of the unsettling clammy bits of raw flesh out of the tin and slid it into the hook, then passed them back to Bart. Then, with my heart starting to beat faster from the anticipation alone, I spread my feet, squared my shoulders, and cast my line out onto the lake. Based on what I'd seen before, I expected an instant reaction, but the water remained undisturbed. I continued to wait, and the tension in my muscles continued to climb, to the point that I nearly screamed when Bart placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Don't forget to breathe, Sam,” Bart said, and the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding came out of me in a rush.

“Thank—”

That was all I managed to get out before my bobber disappeared completely beneath the surface, and my arms were yanked straight out in front of me. Only my death grip on the rod kept it from flying out of my hands, and after a second, I was able to dig my heels into the dirt and yank back on the handle. I felt the line give slightly as the hook was set, causing whatever was on the other end of my line to completely flip out.

“You've got it hooked, now focus!”

I was gritting my teeth too hard to respond, my right hand working the reel as fast as I could to keep the thoroughly pissed-off fish from snapping my rod in half. It swam hard to the left, then jerked right, then back again, and I did my best to keep pace with it every time it changed directions, shuffling up and down the length of the shore, pulling back on the line whenever I could.

Then, something completely unexpected happened.

The fish turned, and I felt all tension leave the line as it began to swim towards the shore, towards me. I was confused, but not so much that I forgot to start reeling in the slack, not wanting to give it a chance to spit the hook.

“Wait, what is it…” Bart’s voice sounded far away, his outline shifting in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the rapidly approaching ripple. Every sense I had seemed to have been cranked up to eleven, focused entirely on the fish, and lucky for me or I would have had my head caved in by what came next.

The fish on my line leapt from the water, and it was definitely another catfish, but it also looked distinctly different from the first one; instead of white, its body was sleek and black, and as it flipped through the air several patches of gold-colored scales caught the first rays of sunlight that had begun to peek over the horizon. It was actually pretty damn majestic, like looking at a painting.

Then, I noticed the massive pillar of mud that had followed the catfish out of the water, flowing through the air behind it as though it were attached to its tail. I watched, slack-jawed, as the catfish spun in place, suspended in the air, while the wave of mud collected itself into a ball, around which it began to orbit. All of the water was forced out of the floating orb of dirt, leaving behind a rock the size of a watermelon. With one more flick of its tail, the catfish sent the rock hurtling through the air, straight towards me.

“What the fuck?!” I shouted, dropping into a crouch and ducking under the rock just in time to avoid getting my face smashed in. The rock whistled over my head, striking the ground behind me and digging out a narrow trench in the dirt before coming to a stop in a small crater. I gasped for breath and stood as the catfish flopped back into the water, starting to struggle against the line once more.

“I don't believe it,” Bart gasped from beside me, seeming to need a moment to compose himself as well, before he snapped back to full attention, suddenly grabbing onto my shoulder, a knife appearing in his free hand. “Sam, we need to cut your line, now!”

“What? Why?” I leaned away from him reflexively, already working the reel again, struggling to hold on while the catfish tried to flee towards the opposite bank, regaining some of the distance it had lost by diving towards me.

“That’s an earthshaker catfish!” Bart shouted, and when I didn’t gasp dramatically or whatever he expected, he explained, “It’s a mana beast!”

“A what?” I asked, because that didn’t actually explain anything, which only seemed to get Bart more worked up.

“By the tides, what do they call them… a magifauna?” Again, no reaction from me, and Bart let out a frustrated groan. “It’s a monster, Sam! Not a very strong one, but way too dangerous for you!”

“Hey, speak for yourself!” I shouted back, grunting and pulling away from Bart’s hand so I could follow the fish along the edge of the lake as it pulled to the left again. “I’m doing just fine here!”

“Sam, what do you think ‘earthshaker’ means? That fish you’re trying to pull in there can control the earth,” Bart continued urgently as he followed after me.

“So, what? It can toss some rocks around?”

“Yes!” Bart grunted in exasperation, motioning to the shallow crater with some urgency. “It doesn’t just ‘toss’ rocks, it hurls them hard enough to break bones! It could cause a minor earthquake, or turn the ground to quicksand beneath your feet!”

“Psh!” I scoffed, regaining some line as the catfish’s energy seemed to flag for a moment, letting me draw it in closer. “Well, it missed with the rock, and quicksand only works if I’m dumb enough to stand still, so—”

Like a jolt of lightning had run through me, all my fur stood on end, and I knew instinctively that this was a warning, rather than a reaction. Something was coming, I could feel it in my toes even through the soles of my sandals.

“Move!” I yelled at the same time as I broke into an awkward sideways sprint, and Bart thankfully didn’t waste time questioning me, diving in the opposite direction just in time to avoid the localized tremor that turned the spot we’d been standing on into a foot-deep crater, lined with rocky spikes.

“Ha!” I barked out a triumphant laugh, spreading my feet but staying poised to run again as I continued to reel back on the line. “Nice try, uh… fish!”

Bart, now several feet away, scrambled back to his feet, spitting dirt from his mouth to ask, “You… How did you know it was coming so early?”

“I have no idea!” I shouted back, laughing again. The catfish’s movements were growing more frantic now, swimming rapidly from side to side in the same spot.

“It’s gathering up more mud,” Bart explained as he ran back up to me, seeming to have accepted that he wasn’t going to talk me into giving this one up. “Get ready to dodge.”

I nodded wordlessly, and dug my feet more firmly into the dirt, my tail thrashing behind me. I was so keyed up that I was moving as soon as the catfish broke the water again, a fresh wave of mud following in its wake. Instead of standing there like an idiot and letting it do its trick with the mud, I yanked back hard on the rod, raising my arms high over my head, pulling it off course and sending it sailing gracelessly through the air.

And the wave of mud followed.

Ah, shit.

“Don’t let it touch the ground!”

With Bart’s last warning ringing in my ears, I turned and ran from the miniature tidal wave of water and lake mud that was taller than I was, keeping my eyes on the catfish as it flailed wildly in midair. I discarded my rod in favor of running with my arms outstretched, ready to attempt to catch a fish that was as long as—no wait… yeah, longer than my arm itself.

You got this, Sam! I told myself. It’s just like catching a football!

I’ve never caught a football! I reminded myself.

Well Chad did it all the time, so it can’t be that—

The catfish smacked me square in the face.

I went down, toppled by the weight of the frankly ridiculously heavy fish, landing on my back with my arms wrapping around its body. It thrashed and flopped, and because of the way it landed, I was forced to hold my breath and press my face into its slimy underbelly, holding on for dear life. I had no idea what might happen if it did manage to touch the ground, but I knew enough to figure it wouldn’t be great for me.

Finally, I felt the catfish’s body seize, then go completely limp on top of me. Before I had time to start kicking and/or screaming, it was rolled off of me, and I gasped for air, tilting my head back and meeting Bart’s wide-eyed expression with a grin.

“...see?” I panted, then spluttered, spitting to get the taste of fish slime off my lips and tongue. “Pleh… s-see, nothin’ to worry about…”

“You… I… I don’t even know where to start!” Bart bellowed, which was obviously a lie, because he immediately continued, “Taking on a hostile mana beast, even a low-ranked one, is extremely dangerous for an untrained civilian!”

“It… it was just a fish though…” I stammered, furrowing my brow and frowning.

“‘Just a fish?’” That seemed to really get Bart going. “There’s no such thing as ‘just a fish’ where mana beasts are concerned. Some of the world’s most dangerous monsters are aquatic in nature! You’re very fortunate we encountered this one inland, but even that doesn’t change the fact that you could have been grievously wounded, or worse, killed if something went wrong!”

“Well yeah, but… it didn’t…” I protested weakly, still sprawled out on my back with Bart leaning over me. He opened his mouth to reply right away, one finger raised, but nothing came out. His pointing finger wilted, his hand curling into a fist, which he ground into his forehead, taking a deep breath.

“You are… correct,” Bert begrudgingly admitted, opening his eyes again and looking down at me, his face softening a fraction. “As… unbelievable as it is to me, you are correct. You have just managed to accomplish a feat so far above your current skill level that I cannot help but… be a little proud.”

“Aww…”

Bart’s lips pursed at that, and he crossed his arms. “That does not mean that it was not still a very foolish thing to do! Next time, I expect you to heed my warnings if I tell you you have hooked a fish that is too dangerous for you, understand?”

“Absolutely,” I said, turning my head to glance at the black body of the catfish laying in the grass beside me. I raised one shaking arm and slapped a palm against its side. “This thing put up way more of a fight than I was expecting, but when you said it was some kinda special rare species, I didn’t wanna just let it go.”

Bart’s brow furrowed, and his tone became disapproving again.

“Sam, it is not wise to let greed or ambition cloud your better judgment, especially this early in your journey to improve,” he said, and I blinked back at him.

“Huh? Greed?” I asked, tilting my head sideways in the dirt. “I just wanted to know if it being rare and magical means it’ll taste better.”

Bart stared at me for a long moment after that, several expressions crossing his face before he settled on “amusedly bemused.”

“Sam,” he said, speaking slowly and gesturing at the dead catfish. “You… you can’t just eat this.”

“Aw, what?!” I shouted, throwing my arms into the air. “Why not? Don’t tell me it being magic makes it inedible!”

“What? No, no,” Bart said, shaking his head and holding his hands up. “Mana beasts are as edible as their non-magical counterparts—well, they have to be prepared differently, to avoid mana poisoning, but that’s not what I meant. You could take this home and eat it, but that would be not only wasteful, but also illegal.”

“I… really?” I sputtered, glancing again at the dead fish. Had I just committed some kind of… nature crime?

“Sam, like I said, this fish is technically a ‘monster,’” Bart said, turning to look off into the distance, presumably in the direction of Rower’s Rest. “Anything involving the hunting, capture, buying, selling, or trading of mana beasts has to be handled through the local branch of the Hunters' Guild.”

“The what?” I asked flatly.

Bart just took a deep breath and shook his head. “We don’t have time to explain it all here. You’ll see when we get back to town, I suppose. If we even can get this back to town… Come on, get up and let’s pack, we’re definitely done for the day. We’ll have to lug all this to the road, then we can try and flag down a wagon.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said, drawing Bart’s eyes back down to me, where I was still laying flat on my back in the dirt. “I’m not still lying here because I like it. I don’t actually know if I can get up.”

I had refrained from mentioning it up until now, but my body felt almost completely drained of energy after spending so much time operating at a hundred percent. I could definitely feel a nap coming on, and fast.

“By the grace of… here,” Bart said, less exasperated and more tired, reaching out a hand, which I took gratefully. He hauled me to my feet, and though my legs wobbled, I was still able to stand. For now.

“Thanks,” I said, brushing myself off as best I could. “If you weren’t here, I would’ve probably just had to conk out right there in the grass.”

“Well, then thank the gods I was here.”

From there, we both worked as quickly as we could to pack away the supplies and get ready to return to the village. I stowed my rod and slung it over one shoulder, then with Bart’s help slung the dead catfish over the other, while Bart took over carrying the ice chest, tacklebox, and bait bucket himself. We trudged through the grass, the rising sun doing much to dispel the chill from the air and help dry the wetness that had seeped into the backs of my clothes. While I was glad that I had avoided getting hit with the full brunt of the wave of mud that had been dragged ashore in the catfish’s final moments, I was twice as glad that I was already planning to visit the baths later.

Once we reached the road, Bart let me rest on the ice chest while he waited to hail the first cart that was headed towards the village instead of away from it. A very friendly farmer and his wife offered to give us a lift for free, but Bart insisted on paying, then we loaded ourselves into the back amidst several crates of vegetables and set off.

I was asleep before we’d rolled ten feet.

■

(End of Part 1)