Arakvili has been excavated out of the Grove as a brown, rather greasy creature nibbled in and cast aside the shrubs and sticks, finding its way to him like a tame puppy. It was a Beaver, just there.

He was certainly confused by the revelation that he was simply here now with a beaver. He didn't know much about them either, up til recently where he discovered that they eat the mushrooms he had the chance to collect.

What was he going to do now, he couldn’t tell. Hell even drawing back to the point when the beaver viciously attacked the bull which allowed him to slit it’s throat… On the same topic of which Arakvili once again looked at the bull, still standing there. Long and muscular though it seemed to be deflecting as blood still gushed out of its maw like a waterfall, the place where he struck its neck too.

It was terrifying to him, the sight of it was like a horror movie based on the rancid factor of flesh. He brushed it off, picked up the cleaver and rushed downhill. He had left the basket behind, and he couldn't afford to do that. God forbid some cattle eat it given that its really just a bunch of grass strung together.

Having made his way there, he got it. Staring down the cows roaming around. He was unsure what would happen to them now that the bull was gone, but he felt certain that their fate might not be any better,

He tripped.

Slamming into the floor infront and back, tipping over and folding back down, eventually falling into the stream bellow. Water splashed over but fear tipped him over as he reinforced his body all over with aura, shimmering gold the water seemed like golden coins around him. The Cleaver slammed into him, bouncing off and a away with the clink of metal clashing.

Arakvili burst up taking deep breaths. Emerging from the waters he looked to the left to see what he tripped on, it felt beefy like a mound of roots hidden in moss. Yet, in the end it was the thick ol beaver that had somehow followed him completely silent…

He got up and brushed the beaver with his hands, letting water fall onto it to at least somewhat play with it in some way given hat he had fallen over the creature. Yet he couldn't tell if anything was going on in the dome of the beaver. It was looking around blankly as if nothing in the world was wrong, occasionally tilting up a little at him, but that was all.

[‘Beaver’ added to Bestiary]

Arakvili got up and recollected himself. He felt fear crawl down his spine with the concept of the giant lizard or boar appearing from the scent of the bulls blood. There was no way in his mind that either of those wouldn't come!

He was cold too, though that was the fault of having fallen into this stream, now covered in mud and sand he was beyond filthy. However the worst of this was the squelched clothing would need to be washed… Somehow, if that is even possible with his current tools.

He grabbed the basket and cleaver. The basket wasn't damaged however the copper cleaver certainly was, it had a massive dent in its middle where it had struck Arakvili, as well as that it had become crooked and dulled around the edge. At least the tip of the Cleaver wasn't damaged.

Arriving at the dead bull, it was still menacing. It even seemed like steam was emerging from its wounds now… It was quite disgusting too, the smell in the area had become like a dense ooze of regurgitated booze.

He brought the claymore up and reinforced it with all of his power. Arakvili stood by the side of the bull as he focused on the neck of the creature, aiming his strike to pierce through the thick neck to the other side which was already wounded. He wanted to collect the head of the beast, he had a plan for it, but wasn't certain yet.

Reinforcing the cleaver, he would need to strike with its end or possibly foil the attack, yet straining the aura that far was still difficult. Empowering his own body has become a natural sensation to Arakvili, to which he became used to the golden glow of the power, even if he felt hollow during its use. However extending the power beyond felt straining. Like being torn in each direction, stretched uncomfortably as his body followed suit. He could feel his muscles popping and straining.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

With that, he reached his limit, having pushed all of his focus into the strike he closed his eyes, the total strain becoming unbearable. There was nothing left but to strike, and so he did.

From that the first things he saw was blurry grass, he was light headed from the swing. His body swayed involuntary as he took deep breaths again and again, regaining himself slowly…

Looking at the body of the bull he was leaning on, the head was severed from the neck. It was a herculean thing, itself alone nearly the size of Arakvili himself. Looking into the body, the organs seemed massive, but now the steam truly flowed and he could hear it too. The Heart of the bull slowly losing its speed… He didn't realize before but it was still going, it had simply drowned in its own blood, no longer able to draw the breaths it needed.

But, this was just the beginning. He may be covered in blood, mud and sand. Wet as a freshly peeled orange. But He needed more. Arakvili took the cleaver exhausted and cut the cleaver into the side of the bull again, this time for its ribs. He hammered on the cleaver as it got stuck, pulling too on the bulls ribs with some aura he mustered up. Harvesting.

Like that in the next twenty Minutes he was done. On his back he wore the woven basket with the cleaver in his right hand, squeezed between of which and his body the 2 massive chops of the bulls ribs, while in his left hand he pouched the hollowed out head of the bull, its horns were arrogantly massive making it hard for him to carry, but inside of its head he had stuffed spare rolls of skin he obtained from the bull. It surprised him originally when gathering the meat of the bull, but it had a decent amount of fur for something that seemed so grotesque and naked.

However there was more to be done, leaving the head and ribs aside. There were potatoes to gather. Or earthroots if he so wished to call the tuber. However he thrust his arms into the soil, among the plants and pulled them out, now even further covered in soil. But his covet for a meal let him endure despite the protests of his body, or rather its will to lie down and pass out here and now.

At last, after this foraging the basket was full, the ribs were close in hand and so was the head of the beast. Arakvili felt confident. Yet something felt odd…

He continued on, hiking through the valleys back in the direction he assumed was the tower, coursing down along the stream and up the hill, through a thicket and along a stash of fleeing deer. He saw some normal boars which evoked stress, and some little geckoes on the branches of trees, those too shivered his ingots.

But after climbing to the peak of the valley and coursing along its rocks and peaks, he found himself where he started. The rock formation with markings, the cobble path. That was Relieved,

He followed it home like a stray cat after getting lost and reappearing, hopping along yet with speed. He felt as if he was already there but the hour it took to actually return to the tower daunted on him. After all right now he was a beacon of red to any carnivore and a full course meal to any omnivore.

Bursting into the tower, he placed the meat on the side of the forge, its stone table. While he laid down the basket of tubers on a box opposite of the meats. However despite the setting sun Arakvili could only take a deep sigh, relaxing for a moment before needing to take the bucket with himself and setting out to the river. He wasn't sure if he could, but he hoped to wash off himself before returning to the tower. If not that little then maybe washing his clothes would be enough.

Setting out, he made sure to close the door well though he somewhat deep down remembered the rat, he doubted that if such a large thing got in without a sound, that it wouldn't be able to again. He just hoped it would suffice in some way.

Crunch

Arriving at the river, the Beaver was already there, resting on the side together with the pygmy catfish that were still some crawling along the side of the shore. It was oddly peaceful. Especially considering that on the opposite side of of the river was a place the system referred to as the arid canyons. He hadn't seen much arise from there, and yet what little did come was brutish, giant vultures flew above or the roars even more wrathful than those of the bull echoed every once in a while…

But this evening he didn't have much of a say. Still covered in blood, mud, water, sand and soil he stripped on the riverside taking his clothes in with him. And so as the waters flowed they left stains across the waters surface in dark shades as his body was cleansed.

A little petite thought Arakvili was still young, his muscles showed off well on his body. He didn't know from what but the transformation of his soul and surfacing of his aura. He admired the scar on his chest and the muscles he had for some time as he frolicked in the water, flexing his arms and abs.

Later he would emerge from the waters, his hair dark as the shade in the night, reaching to his shoulders. He heaved water back to the tower abode…

The Beaver did Follow, yet without his notice.