■

“Sam. Sam, wake up.”

I was awoken some time later by Bart’s hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. I sat up, momentarily startled by the heavy weight of the dead fish laid across my lap, before the events prior to my nap came back to me.

“Are we there yet?” I mumbled, squirming upright in my seat and peering out of the wagon. The woman, the wife of the farmer, chortled beside me as she lifted one of the crates of vegetables. The street we were stopped on was one of the wider ones I'd seen, with enough room for two carts to pass each other side by side and still leave room for people to walk between them. There were indeed many similar wagons to the one we'd ridden in parked at the edges of the street, unloading their cargo into the double rows of wooden stalls that lined both sides of the street.

“We brought y'all as far as Market Street,” the woman explained while Bart helped me get down from the wagon and heave the catfish back over my shoulder.

“The Hunters' Guild is just at the end of the road,” Bart said, lifting the rest of the fishing supplies from the back of the wagon before turning to the pair. “And thank you again, Vera.”

“Oh, it was nothin’, Bart, honestly,” the woman, evidently Vera, said, smiling at Bart, then nodding at the load in his arms. “You two have some business at the guild, right? We’ll watch those for you until you’re finished.”

“Ah, as long as it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition,” Bart said, moving to drop the ice chest, tackle box, and bucket behind the stall.

“None at all,” Vera said brightly, then turned to me. “What about you, darlin’? Would you like an apple for the road?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, sure, thank you,” I said, and she reached into the crate she was carrying to hold out a shiny red apple towards me. I started to reach for it, but then thought better of it, as my hands were both still covered in dirt and lake water and fish slime.

“Uh, just drop it onto one of my pockets,” I said with a grin, holding my leg out. The woman chuckled and dropped the apple into one of the side pockets of my cargo shorts, then Bart and I turned and headed off up the road.

As we walked, I was mostly focused on following Bart and not dropping the catfish I’d worked so hard to catch, but I couldn’t help but notice how many of the people unloading their carts or manning the stalls stopped to gawk at our passage, especially the people who appeared to be buying and selling fish. My first instinct was that they were staring at me again, but I quickly gathered from snatches of conversation that it was the fish I was carrying that was drawing so much attention.

I picked up my pace until I was walking beside Bart and quietly asked, “How rare did you say this thing is supposed to be?”

“Hmm?” Bart glanced down at me, then up at the sky as he thought. “They aren’t exceptionally rare, but they’re uncommon enough in the lowlands that bringing one in unexpectedly is sure to cause a stir, especially in a small town like this.” He turned his head to the side, catching the eye of one of the onlooking fishmongers, and let out a chuckle. “I imagine the commotion will only get worse once word spreads that you’re the one who caught it, not me.”

“Huh,” I said, heaving the fish a little higher on my shoulders. “Well, good thing I already gave up on not drawing extra attention.”

Bart snorted, then raised his arm and gestured at the building approaching on our right, the first structure on this street that wasn’t a market stall. It was a square-shaped three–story building with a tall, sloped roof covered in green tiles. The front doors were double wide and also painted green, and there was a well-worn, wood-carved crest hung above the doorway depicting a shield with three items crossed in front of it: a spear, a bow, and a fishing rod.

“This is the Rower’s Rest branch of the Hunters' Guild,” Bart said, stopping to take a deep breath through his nose, a wistful smile playing across his face before he cleared his throat and continued towards the doors. Bart held the door open for me, and I stepped inside, finding myself in a fairly spacious front room that… sort of reminded me of being back in Felda’s tavern. There were eight tables, four to each side of the room, with chairs arranged around them, almost all of them standing empty except for one table with three occupants. The left wall had a wide, rectangular wooden board notice hung up, with a dozen or so scraps of paper pinned up on it, and the right side of the room was dedicated to a small bar counter; the selection, I noticed with some amount of smugness, was not nearly as expansive as Felda’s.

Finally, straight across from the front doors, and situated between two staircases that led to the upper floors, was another counter built into the wall this time, with the rest of this floor continuing beyond it. There were spaces for multiple… receptionists, I guessed, but there was only one person at the counter currently: a druid in the familiar robe and mask. There was a short line at the far counter, with four other people lined up who, in addition to the three people sitting and drinking at one of the tables, all turned to look as Bart closed the door behind us.

“Come on,” Bart said, walking past me towards the counter. I followed, and expected him to stop when he reached the end of the line, but he just continued on, bypassing it entirely to approach the druid behind the desk.

“Ah, uh… sorry?” I said weakly to the person last in line—a black-haired woman with a scar running down one cheek—and hurried to catch up to Bart, just as the druid spoke up.

“What, uh, can I help you with today, sir?” she asked nervously, her masked face turning from Bart, to me, and then back to Bart. I noticed that, rather than having a plain brown robe and a plain wooden mask, this druid’s robes were edged with green fabric and featured some vine-like embroidery, and there was a slight curve to the front of her mask, like a sort of beak.

“Just two orders of business. For starters, we have an earthshaker catfish to trade in,” Bart said, and at that murmurs rippled down the length of the line behind us.

“I thought that’s what that was!”

“Where’d he even find one ‘round here?”

“Who’s that kid with ‘em?”

“Didn’t know ol’ Bart had taken up slayin’ again…”

“And,” Bart continued, casting a momentary hush over the onlookers again. “Sam here needs to register for her full license.”

The muttering resumed, and redoubled in intensity as the attention of the people in line was shifted from the fish I was carrying to me, most of them who mentioned having heard of me second-or-third-hand.

“Uh… very well,” the druid said, nonplussed, once again casting a glance at me before tilting her head back up towards Bart. “Well, if you’ll just show me your license, I can take that off your hands and get you your initial fee—”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Bart said, cutting in and letting out a downright theatrical chuckle, motioning to me again. “I’m afraid I got those backwards. Sam needs to get a proper license first, so she can be paid for her catch.”

Oh, Bart, you son of a bitch.

Behind me, muttering went out the window in favor of excited, incredulous shouting, all bleeding into and overlapping one another.

“What’d he say?!”

“—must’a heard wrong—”

“—tellin’ me that scrawny kid landed an earthshaker? Ha!”

I started to turn around—to what end, I had no idea—but Bart put a hand on my shoulder and kept me facing forward, his face as stoic and passive as if the two of us and the druid were the only people in the room at all. She cleared her throat and stood up from her stool, raising her voice to be heard over the din.

“O-of course, let me just go fetch the guildmistress for you,” she said, already taking several steps backwards. When neither I nor Bart said anything, she turned and all but ran out of view of the little window, and I soon heard her footsteps rapidly ascending a staircase somewhere.

I turned my head to narrow my eyes up at Bart.

“Did you have to do that in the most dramatic way possible?” I asked under my breath.

“I did, yes,” Bart said quietly, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding resolutely. “It's important the story be suitably exciting when it's told and retold by every pair of lips in town over the next few days.”

“Uugh,” I groaned and rolled my eyes. Before I could respond, the sound of the druid’s hurried footsteps on the stairs returned, accompanied by a second, lighter pair. A second later, she rounded the edge of the window with a red-haired woman in tow. The woman was thin and willowy, and stood taller than even Bart on a pair of incredibly long legs that ended in a set of black scaled talons. I realized with a start that what I'd mistaken for a red cloak draped over her green and gold robes were actually wings, which rustled together gently as she took the receptionist's position at the counter.

“Baaart,” the towering woman drawled with a broad smile, her voice light and airy, with the same refined accent that Peter had. “How lovely to see you.”

“Cynthia,” Bart said with a more reserved smile, bowing his head in greeting.

“It has been a while, hasn't it? Have you finally decided to come out of retirement?” Cynthia asked, her half lidded eyes gliding over me and the fish I was really starting to get tired of carrying.

“I'm still perfectly content as I am,” Bart said, chuckling and clapping a hand onto my shoulder. “This is Sam, you might have heard of her around town?”

“Indeed,” Cynthia said, smiling wider and fixing her piercing brown eyes on me again. She lowered her head even further to greet me, extending one of her scaled hands. “Hello there, Sam, I am Cynthia Spurling, the guildmistress of this branch of the noble Hunters' Guild.”

“Uh, Samantha Fisher, call me Sam,” I said, raising and then lowering the shoulder supporting the dead catfish. “Sorry if I don't shake your hand, mine are kinda full… and covered in slime.”

“Oh, yes, of course, let me take that off your hands, dear. Sanya, would you mind helping Sam here wash up?” Cynthia said, turning to the druid waiting patiently beside her.

“Ah, sure, I m-mean uh, yes, miss,” Sanya said, snapping to attention.

“Thank you, dear,” Cynthia said, smiling, then reached down under the counter and retrieved a long and slightly stained wooden board, laying it lengthwise across the counter and patting the surface. With a grunt, I heaved the catfish off my shoulder and onto the board, and Cynthia bent down and began to inspect it, humming thoughtfully.

“If you’ll just give me your hands, please?” Sanya said, and I turned, finding her standing with both arms held out towards me.

“Ah, sure,” I said, raising my own arms.

Sanya took hold of both my hands, then straightened her back and, with much more confidence than when she’d said anything else so far, spoke the word, “Cleanse.”

The reaction was immediate. A thin film of water flowed from the tips of her fingers, engulfing my arms up to the wrists, and swirling in place for several seconds before withdrawing, forming into a tiny sphere of slightly off-color water in the palm of Sanya’s hand, which she turned and dropped down a metal grated hole in the floor just behind the counter.

“That must happen a lot, huh?” I asked Bart quietly, unable to take my eyes off my suddenly clean and slightly tingly hands and arms.

“You’d be surprised by the kinds of things people can walk into these buildings covered in,” Bart said with a small smirk.

“Green Mother's grace, but this is a fine specimen,” Cynthia said excitedly, drawing my attention back to her. She was leaning over the fish’s body, tapping her clawed hands along a series of numbered black notches that ran along one edge of the board. “Mmh, a little over four and a half spans.”

“That's a bigg’un!”

I jumped slightly and glanced over my shoulder, where the four people who had been in line, as well as the three who'd been drinking, had all gathered into a small crowd at our backs.

“Quite,” Cynthia agreed, letting out a melodious laugh before turning to the druid, who still looked like she was trying her best to fade into the background. “Sanya, I'll send David to take over here, can you process this while I bring our guests somewhere more private?”

There was a chorus of groans from the peanut gallery, which was quickly silenced by the guildmistress sweeping her eyes over them and asking, in a cheerful and pleasant tone, “You folks don't mind waiting a moment, do you?”

The crowd mumbled a mix of agreements and apologies, dispersing as quickly as it formed, and Cynthia beamed and walked to the end of the counter, lifting a latch to swing a section of it inward like a door.

“Come, I'll show you to my office,” Cynthia said, turning and leading the way while Bart and I followed. I only got a quick glance at the area beyond the counter, which continued further back before branching off into two hallways. There were also several open doorways, and Sanya disappeared into one with my catfish in her arms just as I stepped up onto the staircase behind Bart and Cynthia.

The second floor of the Hunters' Guild looked uncannily like an office building, but mixed with a natural history museum and a butcher’s shop. There were several square, cordoned off workstations with long tables covered in equipment, at which more druids were hard at work. Some of them were doing what looked like very complicated chemistry, hovering over boiling beakers or grinding things with a mortar and pestle, and some of them appeared to be… dissecting things.

Spread out around the room were also shelves and racks and display cases full of what I realized were bits and body parts of different animals. I saw more horns and claws and teeth than I'd ever seen in my life, as well as jars of organs; eyeballs, hearts, and other lumps of flesh I couldn't identify. I noticed movement along the ground, and when I looked I saw that there were a number of slimes, like the one Elle and Mel had except red instead of green, slowly oozing between the stations. As I watched, one of the druids made two sharp whistling noises, and when one of the slimes slithered over, the druid bent down and deposited a gnarled lump of unidentifiable tissue into the patiently waiting blob.

It was just my luck that now that my hands were clean I’d decided to snack on the apple I’d been given, taking my first bite just as we crested the stairs. The grisly décor wasn’t enough to completely kill my appetite, but it didn’t help either.

“What is this place?” I blurted out without meaning to.

“Hmm? I told you, this is the Hunters' Guild,” Cynthia said, stopping and turning back to me.

“Uh, yeah,” I said awkwardly, scratching at my cheek. “Well, like you said, I’m… new around here, y’know, and I guess I don't know what exactly that means.”

“Oh, my apologies,” Cynthia said, letting out a small laugh. “I didn't realize this was your first experience with the guild at all. Well, I'll be happy to answer as many questions as you’d like.”

“Oh, okay, well, what's happening here?” I asked, tilting my head towards one of the tables. One of the druids glanced over idly, then returned to their work.

“This is where we store and process the various mana rich byproducts from the many magifauna that are handed in to the guild,” Cynthia explained, sweeping one arm across the room. “Like the catfish you two brought in, the creatures are rendered down to their base components, and those in turn are sold to alchemists and enchanters, who use them as ingredients and reagents for their crafts.”

“Wooooah…” I stared at the room with a whole new appreciation for what I was seeing. “So that fish I caught is gonna be used for, like, potions?”

One of Cynthia's eyebrows quirked up at that and her smile widened. “Potentially, yes.”

She reached a hand up and gave the top of my head a feather-light pat before turning around and continuing to lead the way around the outer edge of the room. I flicked one of my ears and shrugged, moving to follow after her, but before I’d made it two steps, I noticed more movement out of the corner of my eye and stopped. Looking down, I saw that one of the reddish slimes had wandered over towards me and was… jiggling insistently at me. It had no eyes, but I felt like it was staring at me, begging for something, no, pleading for something.

I glanced from the wobbling red ooze to the apple with a single bite taken out of it that I was still holding in my hand. Wordlessly, I bent down, and dropped the apple into the creature’s body.

“Blup,” it… blupped, and slowly jiggled away.

“...you're welcome?”

I caught up with Cynthia and Bart and together we arrived at the other end of the second floor, where four closed doors ran the length of the farthest wall. Cynthia led us to the furthest door on the left, pushing it open and ushering Bart and I inside.

The room we stepped into was a spacious and well organized corner office, with two rows of wide windows that were letting in plenty of light from the steadily rising sun. There was a wide desk against one wall, with one particularly high backed chair behind it and two smaller ones in front of it, with two more chairs tucked into another corner of the room by a small side table. It also had an imposingly large bookshelf taking up an entire wall, with the many books sharing shelf space with even more claws and teeth and bones, these ones clearly ornamental, as they were all polished to an almost mirror sheen. Some of the larger trophies were even hung up on the walls, but the most prominent decoration was an absolutely enormous bow made of dark red wood hanging in a glass front case across from the desk.

“Please, take a seat,” Cynthia said, unfurling her large red wings and using one to motion towards the chairs. “Can I get you two anything? Water, tea, coffee?” She glanced at me and her smile lifted a little higher. “Perhaps some fruit juice? I have many varieties, and I know your kind tends to favor sweet flavors over bitter ones.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll take some juice,” I said, settling into one of the seats across from the desk. I didn't care that her offer sounded a little condescending, I was just proud of myself for not immediately blurting out, “They do?”

“Excellent,” Cynthia said, looking at Bart in turn.

“Nothing for me,” Bart grunted, dropping into the seat beside me.

“Very well.”

Cynthia breezed past us and rounded her desk, opening a tall cabinet with a glass door and selecting one glass bottle from over a dozen others inside. She lifted two mugs from a row of hooks and carried them back to the desk, handing one to me and pouring out a generous portion of a dark amber liquid that immediately filled the room with the smell of apples and cinnamon, before doing the same for herself. Sliding into the chair opposite Bart and I, she waited patiently for me to take a drink.

I took a tentative sniff of the liquid; I was pretty sure I knew what it was, but it never hurt to be thorough. I took a slow, careful sip, savoring not just the sweetness of the apples, but also the strong undercurrent of spices.

“Mmh!” I groaned in satisfaction as I lowered the mug, looking back up at Cynthia with a grin. “Wow, that is good cider!”

“Isn’t it?” Cynthia laughed, taking a small sip from her own mug. “I did a favor a long while back for a family that owns one of Torgard’s largest orchards, and since then they’ve insisted on sending me several of these a year, so I always have a couple bottles knocking around.”

“A favor, she calls it,” Bart said with a gruff but good natured laugh. I gave him a quizzical look and he gestured with a thumb over his shoulder at the case containing the bow. “She used that bow there to single-handedly save their lives and livelihoods. An enraged ember boar wandered out of the forest, and would have destroyed the whole orchard, along with their homes, but thankfully she got there in time.” Bart turned to smirk at Cynthia, who was using her mug to hide most of her expression. “At least, that’s how I’ve heard it told.”

Cynthia took a slow, deliberate sip, obviously stalling, before clearing her throat. “I would say that is a slight exaggeration of the facts,” she said with a patient smile, sitting up even straighter than she already was. “I was not the only one who contributed to bringing down that boar, I was simply the one who arrived first. The rest of my team were every bit as essential to defeating that monster as I was!” The feathers on her arms and head had begun to stand on end as her explanation went on, but she caught herself before she got too worked up, and cleared her throat again. “Ah-hem, but you two didn’t come here for a history lesson, did you?”

“I’m actually still not entirely sure why we did come here,” I said, taking another sip of my own cider. It really was some of the best cider I’d ever tasted.

“Right, right, you mentioned you’ve little to no experience with our organization. I suppose that’s not surprising, considering your background,” Cynthia said, nodding and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk, smiling at me over her folded hands. “I imagine Bart at least told you why you had to bring that fish you caught here?”

“Because it’s magic?” I ventured, scratching at my head. “A… what did Elle call it, a… magical creature? I’ve also heard you and Bart say ‘mana beast’ and ‘magifauna’ and ‘monster,’ are those all the same thing?”

“More or less,” Cynthia said, rocking her head from side to side. “Magifauna is the scientific term that encompasses all living creatures that are either magical in their creation, or have gained or evolved the ability to manipulate mana innately to hunt or defend themselves. From there, the rest are more colloquial terms and their use will often depend on who you’re talking to and where they’re from. ‘Critter’ is used for things that are, generally, harmless or too benign to be of any serious threat to anyone but small children or the like, like slimes or certain races of magic insect or small mammals. ‘Mana beasts,’ or sometimes just ‘beasts,’ make up the bulk of what people refer to when they talk about magifauna, and ‘monster’ is generally reserved for the most dangerous and destructive creatures.”

“Ooooh, huh,” I said, wishing I could pull out my notebook and write that down. It seemed important to keep those straight. “So, anything to do with those has to go through you?”

“More or less,” Cynthia said, resting her chin on top of her hands again. “Under ideal circumstances, a Hunters' Guild branch works hand in hand with both the Druids and various other local guilds like Alchemist’s Guild and the Merchant’s Guild, the former to help monitor and maintain the local ecosystem, ensuring neither the mundane nor magical animal populations come under undue strain, and the latter to facilitate the safe and easy distribution of otherwise rare and highly volatile magical components. We do our best to ensure that anyone who wishes to hunt or fish on a regular basis is properly informed, educated, and accredited, to keep tabs on the growth of promising hunters, put them in contact with teammates of comparable skill and talent, and, in times of crises, organize them to help defend against whatever ecological threats may fall into our jurisdiction…”

Cynthia seemed to realize something, and gave me a questioning look.

“Do stop me if I'm ever going too fast.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I think I got all that,” I said, blinking. “It sounds like a… pretty cool organization, honestly.”

“Hmm?” Cynthia hummed, tapping her chin with a clawed finger. “I suppose my description does lack for a bit of warmth, but I assure you the guild is anything but cold.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It had never occurred to me that there was a chance some of my, uh, “Earth slang” was not getting perfectly translated, or that certain turns of phrase simply wouldn’t exist here. Maybe I’d ask Elle and Mel about it later.

“Sorry, what I meant was, it sounds interesting, and pretty helpful too,” I said, and Cynthia nodded in understanding.

“Oh, I see, I see!” Cynthia laughed melodiously and leaned back into her seat, sighing happily. “I suppose it is, though in a fairly quiet corner of the world like Rower’s Rest, most of that doesn’t apply. Torgard is a fairly tame island, and any mana beasts of significant strength are either docile enough to be left to their own devices, and any that aren't are usually dealt with before they can pose a serious threat. This town, especially, has not had an incident involving a rogue beast in almost ten years now.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“And that is a good thing,” Bart said, finally speaking up after a while, and Cynthia chuckled again.

“Yes, yes, you’re right, Bart,” Cynthia said, turning her head to look out one of the windows. “As much as I enjoyed my time on the frontiers, helping tame the wild islands, I’m no spring chicken anymore”—I snorted, but managed to cover it up as a cough—“and it’s nice to have someplace calm and quiet to rest my wings, to ensure the next generation of hunters is properly prepared to pick up where I left off.” Her eyes, which had drifted towards the window as she reminisced, settled onto me again, and she smiled. “Case in point, the reason you’re here.”

“Right,” I said, finishing the last of my cider and sitting up straighter in my chair.

Cynthia smiled at my display of seriousness, and folded her hands in front of her again, intertwining her fingers. “To cut straight to the bone, your capture and subsequent slaying of an earthshaker catfish was done while you were only in possession of a provisional fishing license, correct?”

“Uh, this thing?” I asked, reaching into my satchel and retrieving the slip of sturdy paper that Hubert had given me, holding it up for her to see.

“Indeed.” Cynthia nodded, reaching out for the paper. I passed it to her and she turned it over in her hands. “Because of this fact, we're presented with something of an interesting problem. This license technically does not allow you to hunt or sell that fish.”

Before I even had time to look alarmed, Cynthia held up a hand. “Now, this isn't a serious issue by any means, in fact it's very easily rectified, but it does require you to make a somewhat hefty decision.”

I glanced at Bart for reassurance, and when he nodded firmly I settled back into my chair, motioning for Cynthia to go on.

“You see, there are traditionally two paths an enterprising young hunter, or angler in your case, takes after they've outgrown this preliminary license; Either they upgrade from this to a standard game license that grants full permissions to hunt or fish in their local area, but only for mundane, non-magical prey. This is the path for those who wish to make a modest living off the land, but lack either the skills or confidence to overcome mana beasts.”

“And the other path is, what, professional monster hunter?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level, but I could feel my tail starting to swish behind me. It was finally starting to sink in exactly what kind of place this was.

Cynthia let out an amused chuckle and nodded. “Essentially, yes. They apply for the introductory professional hunter’s license, which carries all the benefits of the standard license, but also allows them to hunt specifically for magifauna, if they so choose. It also grants access to certain extra guild facilities and services, not just in their home branch, but any branch in any corner of the world.”

“It kinda sounds like that option is just better all around,” I said, and Bart laughed beside me.

“I could've guessed you'd say something like that,” Bart said, smirking sidelong at me, before his face became serious again. “It’s not all perks though; you should know those extra benefits come with extra responsibilities as well.”

“Just so,” Cynthia said, taking another slow sip from her mug. “Being certified as a professional hunter does carry with it more weight than just sticking to ordinary animals. Your skills and performance would come under much closer scrutiny, especially from your fellow hunters, and as I mentioned before, higher ranked hunters are expected to contribute to repelling rogue monsters and handling other threats well suited to their unique skill sets. Of course, most of this wouldn't apply to you, as you'd be joining at the lowest rank. Provided, of course, that you even chose that option at all.”

Cynthia fell silent, and I realized she had finally reached the end of her explanation. I glanced again from her to Bart, and back again, before tilting my head to one side.

“So, that's the choice I have to make? Whether I wanna just get a normal fishing license and stick to normal fish, or go for the super special one where I get to hunt magic monster fish?”

“Correct,” Cynthia said, her smile widening again. Beside me, Bart sighed through his nose and brought a hand up to his forehead.

“What happens with that fish I caught if I just go with the normal one?” I asked, and Cynthia hummed.

“Well, in that case, we would legally have to credit the catch to Bart if you wanted to avoid a fine, and both the initial reward and your cut of the proceeds from the sale of its parts would have to be given to him first, but I’m sure he’d pass them right along to you.”

Tilting my head to look up at Bart, I found him looking even more nervous than when he first realized I'd hooked such a dangerous fish. He tried to hide it, but his eyes were wavering slightly as he stared back at me, and I could see his jaw clenching and unclenching under his stubble. I let a smile slowly creep onto my face, leaning on the arm of my chair and asking, “Was this a conversation you didn't think we'd have to have so soon?”

“I thought it would at least take a week,” Bart said, his shoulders heaving as he sighed. “I don’t know whether to thank the gods, or curse them, that you landed that fish on your first try. I won't try to make this decision for you, Sam. If you'd asked me on the first day I met you if I thought you'd be capable of maintaining your hold on a fishing rod while dodging flying rocks, I would have laughed.”

“You never laugh.”

“I would have,” Bart reiterated, smirking at me before resuming his serious tone. “But, after what you showed me this morning, I'm having to seriously reconsider everything I thought I knew about you, and catkin in general.”

“Heh,” I chuckled, reaching up to give one of Bart’s shoulders a pat. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't right there with you, but thanks, Bart.” Turning back to Cynthia, my smile widened until I was sure I was flashing my fangs, and I said, “Well, honestly, there's no chance I'm taking the normal license. I didn't get covered in slime and drag that thing all the way back here to not get the credit for it.”

“We rode a cart most of the way back, Sam.”

“I still had to carry it.”

“You were asleep for the whole ride.”

“Not important!” I leaned forward and slapped both my palms down on the desk, though the impact was somewhat lessened by the desk being just slightly too tall for me to reach comfortably. Cynthia, for her part, had the good grace not to laugh. “I'd like to apply for the professional hunter’s license!”

“I thought so,” Bart said, and sighed again, slumping back in his chair. “When Felda asks, would you tell her I at least tried to stop you?”

“No promises,” I said, still grinning up at Cynthia. “So, how does this work? Do I gotta sign something, or…?”

“Well, typically, there’s a review process, where either a guild affiliate accompanies you on a trek to assess your skills and determine whether you’re up to the challenge, but considering who you have sitting beside you, I would say his willingness to vouch for you speaks volumes.” Cynthia began to rummage through her desk as she spoke, and I snuck another glance at Bart. “I would also make a point to ask you if you're absolutely sure you fully understand the risks inherent with hunting magifauna, but for most people that conversation typically comes before they've actually hunted one. From what I hear, you experienced that danger first-hand, and if it has not dissuaded you, then I won't waste the effort trying either.”

Cynthia finally found what she was searching for: a pair of red framed spectacles, which she slipped onto her face, then continued to dig, pulling out several more items in quick succession. There was a metallic jangling from one drawer, and she produced a small metal plate made of… copper? Or maybe bronze? Whichever one it was, it was square, with slightly rounded edges, and a little bit bigger than a business card, but smaller than a greeting card. She placed it down on her desk, then placed a single sheet of paper next to it, and, finally, an ink pot and a quill made from a long red feather.

“Let's see here…” She adjusted her glasses and leaned over the paper. “Full name; Samantha Fisher, correct?” I nodded, and she quickly scratched it out onto the larger sheet of paper. “Hmm, do you know your date of birth?”

Oh, shit. I knew I should've planned for this sooner.

“Uh, I… Not the exact date, no,” I said nervously. “I know that it's in the… fourth quarter of spring, year… seven hundred and four.”

“Oh, that's plenty,” Cynthia said, waving away my concerns and touching her quill to the paper again. “Let me just… Wait, that would make you… nineteen?”

“Yes…” I said, just barely holding back a weary sigh. “I know, I'm short, but I'm seriously older than I look.” Half turning to Bart, I grumbled, “Why is everyone always so surprised?”

Cynthia brought a hand up to her mouth and stifled a giggle. “Oh, I'm sorry, but that's not what I meant. I actually thought you were much older than that.”

“What? Really?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.

“Well, yes,” Cynthia said, looking slightly confused as well. “If you'll forgive me for saying so, you're quite independent for one of your kind, especially at this age.”

“I think you'll find Sam defies the mold in many regards,” Bart cut in before I had a chance to even open my mouth, and that gave me an extra second to actually think about how I was going to reply. Like Peter, the polite pigeon man who delivered the mail, it seemed like Cynthia had at least passing familiarity with catkin. Considering what I’d learned about the existence of High Society, it made sense that anyone capable of independent flight might actually have been there once or twice. That was something to keep in mind going forward.

“Ah, eh, yeah, I’ve been told I’m… kind of unusual,” I explained awkwardly, and like I’d done with Peter, I made sure to pull my ears all the way back against my head. The reaction was immediate and satisfying.

“Oh, my goodness, how careless of me,” Cynthia said, looking suddenly stricken. “My deepest apologies, you must be an awful long way from home and the rest of your kind, I’m sure you don’t need me dredging up those memories.”

“I-it’s fine,” I said hastily, dropping my eyes to the floor. Not because I was actually that upset, or to sell the image, but because I was actually a little embarrassed at how well that had worked. Forget super enhanced hearing and heightened agility, that might actually be my most powerful ability; looking like a sad kitty cat at the drop of a hat.

“Nonsense,” Cynthia said, leaning across her desk and plucking up my now empty mug, once again refilling it with cider. “Here, the least I can do.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, accepting the mug and sipping from it slowly while Cynthia retrieved her quill, picking up where she left off with the details of my application.

“I think in light of that, we can leave ‘island of origin’ blank as well, if you’d prefer not to talk about it,” Cynthia said, and I nodded quickly. That was actually perfect for me, since I didn’t have the first clue what any High Society islands were named. So far the only islands I could name were this one and the ones I’d skimmed from the book Mel gave me, and I couldn’t say I was from any of those.

I chanced a glance out of the corner of my eye at Bart, and as expected he was looking at me closely, his brows ever so slightly furrowed. If he suspected the past few moments were all just an act, he didn’t seem in a hurry to say anything.

“Well, there’s just one last thing,” Cynthia said, and I turned my focus back on her. She turned the paper around and slid it across the desk, then placed the quill and inkpot beside it. “I need your signature at the bottom, right there.”

Standing up so I could reach, I got a better look at the sheet of paper. Aside from the printed headings showing where each bit of information should be written, and the long bold line at the bottom where I was meant to sign, I also noticed there was an intricate, swirling border running along the entire outer edge of the form. I thought it was purely decorative at first, but the more I stared at it, the more I realized there was something off about the thick black strokes. Parts of the design seemed to writhe before my eyes, turning into words at the periphery of my vision but then losing definition when I tried to focus on them.

Huh… was something wrong with the translation? Hmm, was there a safe way to ask about it?

“Hey, uh, what’s this border around the page?” I asked, figuring there was little chance it was something that could give me away.

“Oh, that?” Cynthia reached down, sliding the slab of copper-or-maybe-bronze towards me as well. “It’s part of the spell that will help transcribe the information onto your license, see?”

I did see. Running along the edge of the metal was a similar border, inked on top of the metal. So, did that mean the translation was trying, and failing, to let me understand the words that made up a literal magic spell? Definitely another thing to ask Elle and Mel about later.

“Oh, I see,” I said, nodding and reaching towards the quill, but pausing again. Once again feeling awkward, I cleared my throat and looked up. “Can I, uh, write with something else? I’ve never actually used one of those.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that would be a problem,” Cynthia said.

“Great, one sec!” I reached for my satchel and dug out the weird pencil thing I bought with my journal, leaning down again. For one brief moment, I felt my hand wanting to make the motions to write out my old signature, my old name, but that was easily overcome, and soon I was staring down at the words “Samantha Fisher” written across the bottom of the page with a growing warmth in my chest and a prickling in the corner of my eyes.

“A-anything else?” I asked, turning away to return the pencil to my bag and surreptitiously blink away the not-quite-tears that hadn’t fully formed.

“Nothing that comes to mind,” Cynthia said, sliding the paper back over to her end of the desk and briefly glancing over it before looking up at me with a smile. “Well, everything seems to be in order. I suppose this is your last chance to change your mind, if you still have any doubts?”

“Mmmh…” I crossed my arms, furrowing my brow. I tried to summon up as much seriousness as I could muster and really think about whether I was doing the right thing, but, honestly, all I could think about was the fact that I had fished up and fought a magical monster fish, completely by accident, and lived to talk about it. While it was true that I really only got into fishing in the first place because I’d developed a sudden craving for it, and was only pushing Bart to teach me faster so I'd stand a chance in the competition, it sounded like it wasn’t entirely my choice whether I encountered more of these magic fish or not, if they were just swimming around out there mixed in with all the others.

I wasn’t planning on going out and becoming some kind of badass monster slayer, and according to what Cynthia said, I wouldn’t have to, but… I also couldn’t deny how cool the thought of that seemed to me, so maybe after the competition I could…

Though, speaking of the competition.

“Hmm, Cynthia, do you know Bentley? The mayor’s son?” I asked, lifting my head.

“Of course,” Cynthia answered. “What about him?”

“Does he have a professional license?”

“I… don’t believe so?” Cynthia glanced quizzically from me to Bart.

“Heh!” I laughed, standing as tall as I could and crossing my arms. “That’s all I needed to know. Go ahead and… do whatever you need to do to finish this, because I’ve made up my mind!”

“Very well,” Cynthia said, chuckling indulgently along with me. She reached once more into her desk and pulled out two items this time; a round metal tin and a wood-handled stamp. I watched with mild amusement as she opened the tin, revealing the expected ink-soaked sponge inside, and pressed the stamp into it before swiftly and deftly applying it to the finished application form, exactly as I expected her to.

What wasn’t expected was for the border around both the paper and the accompanying metal plate to both start glowing brightly, and the paper to suddenly burst into flames, going up in smoke like a piece of flash paper.

“Wa—!” I started to cry out, but in less than a second it was over, and all that was left was a slowly dissipating curl of smoke, and the metal plate, which Cynthia scooped up and held out to me. I cleared my throat and sheepishly accepted it.

“T-thank you,” I said, turning the plate over in my hands. On the back I found an embossed engraving of the same crest I’d seen on the front of the guild; a shield crossed by a spear, bow, and fishing rod. On the front, all the information that had been written on the paper was now etched into the metal; my name, date of birth, and my signature, as well as another, smaller, circular version of the guild crest, which must have been from the stamp. As I ran my thumb across it to feel how surprisingly smooth the edges of the engraving were, it began to light up again, and I jumped, holding it out at arm’s length.

“There’s nothing to worry about, dear,” Cynthia said after a moment in which the license thankfully didn’t explode in my hand. “That’s just the identity glyph. That’s how you prove you’re the actual owner of that badge, as that crest will only light up for you.”

“W-woah,” I said, catching my breath and once again settling my thumb over the crest, watching in fascination as it lit up. Satisfied, I slipped the license into my pocket, where it settled with a comforting weight.

“Well, allow me to congratulate you, Samantha Fisher,” Cynthia said, standing up and reaching across her desk. I reached out and took her hand, shaking it firmly but carefully. We did both have claws, after all. “You are now a bronze ranked professional hunter.”

“Thank you,” I said, beaming, but then tilted my head. “Wait, bronze? Rank?”

Well, that answered one question. The license was bronze, not copper.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Cynthia took her hand back, walking out from behind her desk. “As I said, you are coming in at the introductory rank, bronze. Don’t worry, the Hunters' Guild is not a competitive organization, the ranks are simply to keep track of any given hunter’s general skill level, and help them choose appropriate prey. Most commonly encountered mana beasts will have an accompanying rank applied to them, you see, and that can help you determine whether something is too dangerous to attempt to fight. We have plenty of guides for beginners here in the guild, if you ever wish to study up on the local species.”

Oh man. Between the atlas Mel gifted me, and now whatever these “guides” turned out to be, it sounded like I had a lot more reading to look forward to in the future. It sounded like it was exciting reading, but, still, reading. For absolutely no reason at all my body chose that exact moment to remind me that I had only had a short, bumpy nap in the back of a vegetable cart recently, and forced a yawn out of my mouth as I turned to follow Cynthia.

“Ah, perhaps another time, yes?” Cynthia said, turning back and smiling down at me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, still not quite able to suppress all the embarrassment that came with being so easily tired out. Though, to be fair, between my run last night and fighting for my literal life this morning, I was probably more justified than ever to be a little exhausted.

As we stepped back out into the processing area, another thought occurred to me.

“Hey, uh, one more thing,” I called ahead to Cynthia, and she stopped and peered back at me. “You said that you guys take care of everything, like, cutting up the catfish I brought in, right?”

“Correct, that’s actually our last stop for today. By now Sanya should have begun processing the carcass, and we’ll be able to pay you the initial reward. Any additional proceeds from sale of the parts will be held for you until the next time you visit.”

“Oh, that’s great, but I actually wanted to know, is it like… allowed for me to ask to have some of it?”

Cynthia tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow raised.

“Ah, well, that depends. Decisions like that are made on a case by case basis. For most ingredients, you’re fully welcome to ask for them to be turned over to you, with only the most volatile components requiring special permissions. There should be no problems for you, though, there’s nothing especially dangerous inside an earthshaker catfish, though I would urge you that unless you plan to use them yourself, you’ll get a much better price selling through the guild.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I didn’t want any of the… components, or whatever,” I said, shaking my head quickly. “I just wanna know if I could have some of the meat?”

Cynthia’s curious look vanished, and her smile widened.

“The… meat?” Cynthia repeated thoughtfully, eventually nodding her head. “I suppose so, yes. It’s true that the flesh of magical creatures is often one of the most highly prized parts, but I should reiterate, most merchants prefer to buy from a more trusted source.”

“That’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’m just going to give it to Felda.”

Cynthia stared down at me for the span of several seconds, her face seemingly frozen, before she pressed her palms together and smiled again.

“Very well,” she said simply, and turned to resume her stride, leading us back down the stairs to the first floor. Rather than returning to the front, we went deeper into the area behind the counter, which was a lot bigger than it looked, and explained why the building had looked so large from the outside. There were more half rooms with more processing stations inside them, and it was at one of those that we found Sanya, literally up to her elbows in the catfish I’d brought in. It was a little jarring, seeing the seemingly timid druid girl wearing a pair of thick leather gloves and apron over her robes, both of which were now covered in blood or worse.

She was even humming a little tune to herself inside her mask.

“Sanya,” Cynthia called, announcing our presence, and she let out a startled squeak, almost dropping whatever organ she’d just pulled from the inside of the fish.

“Y-y-yes, miss?” Sanya said, quickly depositing the lump of flesh into a bucket and turning around. “Oh, it’s you, right. Uh, I have the results of the initial evaluation right there.” She pointed to a sheet of paper that was clipped to a clipboard, which itself was hung up on a hook against one wall.

“Excellent work, dear,” Cynthia said brightly, turning and bending down to peer at the sheet as she spoke. “I’m afraid I must trouble you briefly, young Sam here would like to take some of the meat with her.”

“Oh, alright,” Sanya said, turning to me, the lenses of her druid mask catching the light from the overhead lamp. “How much?”

“Uuuh… “

“One filet should be plenty,” Bart offered helpfully, and I pointed at him and nodded my confirmation.

“Sure, give me just a moment,” Sanya said, turning and raising her arms in front of her again. “Cleanse!”

I watched as the same thin skin of water appeared and wrapped itself around her hands and arms, the resulting orb of water much more brownish-red than when she’d just washed my hands. The sphere of muck was deposited down another drain hole, and Sanya turned, reaching towards a rack of various bladed implements and selecting a very thin, narrow bladed knife.

“Huh…” I mumbled quietly to Bart while I waited for Sanya to do… whatever she was about to do. “With a spell like that, I wonder if I’d even need to visit the baths.”

“There’s a reason that spell only covers the hands and arms,” Bart said, letting out a gruff chuckle. “Trying to cover much more than that without either drowning the subject or sucking all the moisture from their eyes, mouth, and nose would increase the difficulty of casting it tenfold.”

“Oh…”

“Besides,” Bart continued, “just because you could find a way to replace some mundane task with a magical replacement doesn’t mean you should. It’s my understanding that people take long, hot baths because they’re enjoyable, no?”

“Ah, good point,” I said, glancing back to Sanya to see if she’d started. At some point, she must have, because she had somehow removed one entire side of the catfish’s body and moved it aside, and was now carving it with smooth, sweeping motions, manipulating the knife in her hands like a conductor’s wand. I stared, transfixed, as she removed the fins, trimmed down the edges, then flipped the filet over and swapped her knife for a large pair of what looked like tweezers. She ran her gloved hands along the pinkish flesh, occasionally poking the tweezers into it and drawing out a long, thin… bone? Which she began to build a small pile of as she went, until finally she stood up and took a deep breath.

“All done,” Sanya declared, turning back around.

“Woah,” I said, blinking, and wondering if it would be rude to clap. “That was, what, like thirty seconds? That’s amazing.”

“O-oh, no, that was nothing,” Sanya said, her head lowering and her shoulders hiking up. “Miss Spurling here could have done that in ten seconds, easy.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear,” Cynthia said, reaching out to rest a clawed hand on Sanya’s head, patting it through the hood, before turning to the prepared filet. “Let’s get this packaged up for you, then I’ll go fetch your payment, and you’ll be free to go.”

Sanya seemed momentarily unable to form words, but she and Cynthia worked together, using a sheet of waxed paper from a large roll to wrap and package the catfish filet, handing it off to me. It was still about as long as my arm, but significantly easier to carry than the entire fish had been.

“Bye, thanks again,” I called to Sanya as we left her to the rest of her work, then Bart and I continued towards the front desk while Cynthia broke off to visit the guild’s “vault.” Even before we rounded the corner, I could tell something was off by the amount of overlapping chatter I could hear. Stepping out into the reception area, it looked like the small crowd that had dispersed earlier had returned with a vengeance, and multiplied. I could see the few hunters who had been waiting in line, and the trio that had been sitting at the tables and drinking, and then an entire group of other people who hadn’t been there before. And as we stepped out into the open, all eyes swiveled to fix onto me and Bart.

As much more comfortable as I’d gotten with myself, and with receiving attention from strangers over the last… three or four days, that was still a lot of eyes.

Without breaking the stride I’d build up, I pivoted right back around, and half walked, half ran back the way I’d just come. I made it about two steps, before Bart caught me by the shoulder.

“Come on, Sam,” he urged gently. Well, gently for him. “They’re just eager to know if the town has a new professional hunter, and I personally can’t wait to see the looks on some of those faces when they find out.”

“R-right,” I said, taking a deep breath in through my nose, doing my best to steel myself. He was right, and that crowd was probably only gonna get worse the longer I waited.

Turning back around, I stepped past Bart and emerged once again into the reception area, and this time I didn’t flinch when all eyes fell on me. I also made sure to have my tail curled as tightly around my waist as I could.

“Well?” one gruff voice called from the crowd. “Let’s see it then!”

Taking another deep breath, I once more broke out into a fang-baring grin and reached down into my pocket, pulling out my shiny new bronze badge, holding it up for all to see. I even made sure to hold it with my thumb over the crest in the corner, so everyone would see it lighting up.

The crowd erupted, and I felt a mixture of terror and pride as the waves of congratulatory cheers mixed with disbelieving shouts washed over me. Several people broke off from the back and almost literally ran back out the door.

I couldn’t have stopped grinning, even if I wanted to.

This carried on for just long enough for Cynthia to return from the back rooms, and whatever raucous commotion her presence alone didn’t silence was put to an end when she, still smiling brightly, cleared her throat, the sound somehow cutting through and drowning out all other noises.

“Everyone sure is lively this morning,” Cynthia said once there was silence, chuckling and turning to me, reaching into a pocket on the inside of her robes. “Here you are, Sam; your payment for the hunt.”

I held out my hand, not sure what I was expecting, and when Cynthia dropped the small stack of coins into my palm, my jaw dropped open. Sitting there in my hand were five hefty golden coins, the ones that featured a crab on one side. I still wasn’t an expert in this world’s currency, but I was pretty sure this was kind of a lot of money. Hell, if I remembered right, this was one tenth of the prize money for the competition I was training for.

So that’s why people risk their lives to fight giant monsters with magic powers.

“Bart,” I said distantly, still not quite able to take my eyes off what felt like a small fortune in the palm of my hand. “Would you hold onto this until we get back to Felda’s?”

“Why?” Bart asked, and I curled my fingers over the coins and turned to look up at him.

“So that I can’t spend it all before we get back to Felda’s.”

Bart snorted, but I was completely serious. I knew there were probably plenty of legitimate uses I could find for these funds, but I also knew that if I wasn’t careful I might impulsively blow it on something flashy but ultimately useless to me, like… I don’t know, a sword or something.

“Mmh, alright,” Bart said, and I pressed the gold into his hands, turning back to the crowd, which was still watching, but at a much more polite distance and volume.

Cynthia moved to once again lift the latch on the side of the counter to let Bart and I back out into the main room. Securing the catfish filet in my arms, I led the way, with Bart following behind, and the crowd parted for us.

“It was delightful to meet you, Sam,” Cynthia called, waving from the desk. “Feel free to come back in a day or two to collect your cut of the proceeds.”

Oh my god, er, gods? there was more?

“Thanks, uh, and, nice to meet you too,” I called back, one hand on the door handle, doing my best to look past the corridor of gawking faces. “I’ll see you all next time, I guess.”

With that, I yanked the door open and, finally, reemerged onto the streets and the bright early morning sunlight.

Bart and I quickly collected the ice chest from the nice couple who’d agreed to watch it for us, and I was just able to fit the bundled filet of catfish into it. I wanted to head straight back, but Bart suggested we offload a few of the fish I’d caught, both to lighten the load we’d have to carry, and because Felda likely wouldn’t be able to buy all of them.

I agreed, but between my growing exhaustion and the gaggle of townspeople who had followed us from the guild and were, even now, watching from the sidelines, I didn’t feel up for haggling with a bunch of fishmongers. Thankfully, Bart offered to handle that without me even needing to ask, and I watched from a short distance as he quickly and efficiently bartered away a few of the choicest samples of perch, solfish, pumpkinseed, and bluegill. I made sure to tell him to save the three pound rock bass for Felda though.

Finally, we were on our way back to the tavern. I was a little worried, wondering just how long the crowd from the Hunters' Guild intended to follow us, but Bart assured me there was nothing to worry about, and I trusted him. At some point, the last of them broke off, and we were alone again by the time Bart pushed in the doors to the Crooked Hook.

Felda was seated on a stool at the bar when we entered, a book open in front of her, and stood up to greet us as we deposited our gear beside the doors.

“My, you two are back late,” Felda said, crossing the room in a few quick strides so she could take the ice chest from Bart.

“Aye, well, we had to make a bit of a detour,” Bart said, chuckling as he handed off the chest, then slid his coat off and hung it on the rack.

“Oh?” Felda asked, and Bart looked down at me, jerking his head in Felda’s direction while her back was turned.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, hurrying to catch up and walking alongside Felda as she returned to the bar. “We had to stop by the Hunters' Guild, actually.”

Felda froze mid-stride and her head swiveled down to stare wide eyed, first at me, then over her shoulder at Bart. She all but threw the ice chest down onto the bar counter, then promptly forgot about it and knelt down, suddenly poking and prodding at me, tilting my head this way and that.

“What happened? Did a stray beast wander out of the forest? Were you hurt?” Felda fired off her questions back to back as she fussed over me.

“Nyach, no, no, nothing happened!” I shouted, stumbling back and holding my hands up to stop Felda from lifting me straight off my feet. “I’m not hurt, and nothing came out of the forest!”

“Then… what?” Felda still looked concerned, so I tried to smile, to put her at ease, and pointed to the ice chest.

“It was in the river, actually,” I said, smiling wider at the way Felda’s mouth popped open. Before she could collect herself for another round of questions, I put my hands on my hips and squared up my shoulders, and explained, “I caught an earthshaker catfish.”

“What?!” Felda gasped, reaching up as though to start inspecting me for injuries again, but caught herself, clenching her hands into fists instead and looking frantically from me to Bart. “Caught? You… you mean you hooked it, but then Bart cut it loose, obviously?”

Bart, who had gravitated closer, held up his hands as well and took a few steps back. “I swear, I tried.”

Felda’s eyes fixed on me again, and I flashed my fangs and shrugged.

“It was a tough fight, but I still won in the end.”

“I… I don’t… believe it…” Felda brought a hand to her forehead, heaving out a heavy sigh.

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t either,” Bart said with a chuckle, stepping forward and offering a hand, helping Felda back to her feet.

“How in Soliel’s name could you let her do something so dangerous, Bart?” Felda asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, instead looking down at me again. “Wait… the Hunters' Guild? Oh, tell me you didn’t…”

I was kind of starting to feel bad for Felda, she really must not have been expecting anything like this, at least not so soon. Still, I dug into my pocket and fished out the bronze plate, holding it up for Felda to see.

“Afraid so,” I said, once again feeling the corners of my mouth being pulled upwards as if by magnets. “You’re looking at a brand new bronze rank professional hunter.”

“Oh, Sam,” Felda sighed again, rubbing her forehead with one hand and taking my badge with the other. She inspected it from front to back, shaking her head, but a smile had appeared on her face as well. “You know you didn’t need this just to keep fishing, right?”

“I know,” I said, crossing my arms behind my head, letting out another yawn as the excitement of the moment began to wear off again. “Cynthia, the guildmistress, she explained it. I know I could've gone with the normal license, but, well, it was really exciting fighting that thing. I don’t plan to suddenly run off and start fighting monsters everyday or anything, that honestly sounds exhausting, but every now and then couldn’t hurt right?”

“It very much could get you hurt,” Felda said seriously, holding the license back out to me.

“I know,” I said, taking it back but then placing my hand on her arm, looking her square in the eyes. “But, I promise I’ll listen to Bart if he tells me something is too strong and too dangerous for me. I just want to eat as many kinds of fish as I can, but I know I can’t do that if I wind up eaten by a dragon or something.”

Felda chuckled at that, which then developed into full on, chest rumbling, shoulder heaving laughter. Felda reached for me again, and this time I wasn’t quick enough to avoid being lifted off my feet in a crushing bear hug, one of her hands settling firmly on the top of my head.

“Alright, Sam,” Felda said, gently scratching between my ears. “I trust you, and I trust Bart to watch out for you.” I wanted to reply with actual words but I was really tired, and she was really working that one spot behind my left ear, and for a moment I just dropped my head onto her shoulder and let the purring do the talking.

Though, her talk of trust reminded me that there was still another difficult conversation I needed to have with her. Or, rather, that Bart needed to prep her for first. And I was probably going to have to conk out for several hours before that anyway. That was enough to put a bit of a damper on my mood, one that Felda picked up on when I stopped purring so vigorously.

“Is something wrong?” Felda asked as she set me back on the floor, and I glanced from her to Bart.

“Ah… later,” I said, smiling reassuringly. “There’s something we'll need to talk about later, but for now I’m just kind of worn out. It’s been a busy day.”

“Mmh, alright then,” Felda said, smiling back, then turning to the ice chest still waiting on the countertop. “Should we take care of these while you’re still on your feet?”

“Oh, right!” I said, bouncing slightly on my feet and hurrying past her, climbing up onto a stool so I could reach into the chest and pull out the wrapped filet of catfish. Turning to Felda, I presented it with both hands. “Before anything else, this is for you.”

Felda hummed curiously, accepting the paper and twine wrapped bundle. “What it is?” she asked, peeling away one corner of the paper.

“It’s from the catfish I caught,” I said, beaming again as the way her eyes widened.

“Sam,” Felda said softly, looking from the wrapped bundle to me. “This is… This is a bit too much for my little tavern. A cut of meat like this, well-prepared, can go for half a dozen crabs or more. I’d want to pay you a fair price for this, but I don’t know how many of my usual clientele could afford it.”

“Psh, what?” I said, waving my hand. “You don’t have to pay me for it, it’s a gift.”

“Oh!” Felda gasped, holding a hand to her mouth, her cheeks turning a darker shade of teal as she giggled, then reached out to give me a quick, one armed hug “Oh, goodness, Sam, that’s incredibly generous of you, I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, hugging back as best I could from my seated position. “You’ve given me so much already, I figured this is the least I could do. I just hope whoever orders what you make out of it enjoys it.” I leaned back in the stool, resting my elbows on the bar. “But, y’know… if there happens to be little bit left to spare, I also wouldn’t mind giving it a try.”

Felda laughed again, reaching up and ruffling up my hair before returning the wrapped bundle to the ice chest.

“Oh don’t you worry, Sam, I promise I’ll save some for you!”

With that out of the way, we got down to business, right after Felda took an extra moment or two to marvel at the sheer amount of panfish I’d brought back, especially after we told her we’d already sold off several on the way back.

Felda’s prices were, of course, pretty generous, and between what she paid for the small pile of panfish, what Bart had been able to haggle for the rest, and what I’d gotten for the earthshaker catfish, I suddenly had almost ten whole gold crabs to my name. It was kind of funny that just one single fish had been worth more than an entire morning’s worth of work combined, but it made sense when I thought about it. Fishing for normal fish was safer and simpler, while fishing for crazy magic fish that could kill you weren’t careful was obviously more dangerous, but more profitable as well.

Finally, with my new funds tucked away in my satchel, I bid Bart and Felda my now familiar farewell until I would see them again in however many hours I decided to nap for. Yawning, I dragged myself up to Felda’s room, ditched my sandals and my thoroughly fish-scented day clothes, and dropped off to sleep as soon as I tumbled into bed.