The next morning, I was gently awakened by the soothing sensation of boots stepping on my hand. "Awyaaaa..." was my enthusiastic greeting to the world, I'll be it that the yelp was muffled somewhat by the layers of wool and burlap wrapped around my face.

"Oy, sorry," someone chuckled from above, the boots being removed (none too fast I might add) and pulling away. As the invigorating sensation of dislocated digits began to dissipate, the muffled hum of campers scrambling about their morning duties registered in my ears.

My features brushed against the the woolen sheet as I, suddenly very awake, assumed my feline form. It took me less than ten seconds now to shift into my full, functional transformation, though it felt like much longer. My fingers screamed in pain, regardless of whether they were elfin digits or claws, and by the time I managed to rip my furry face from out my bag I was in in waves of unceasing agony.

Inspecting the damage, a clawed digit was twisted oddly to the side, and my middle finger appeared to have turned half way around. Almost as if it had awaken to it's own conscious, but just long enough for it to turn half way round to flick off my palm, before dying a gruesome and inevitable death of its own.

I yelped a quick spell of healing to straighten everything out - watching as the bestial fingers righted themselves as if pulled by invisible, magic strings. The throbbing slowly ceased. It was only then that I realized I had found a small audience from amid the encampment. 

"Well," came the voice again, "she's a druid, no doubt about it. Even if she does sleep later than a hungover teenager." 

I tracked the speaker to a shortish, stalky man standing next to a somewhat frantically gesturing Fr33ze. Fr33ze started mumbling something back, but my attention was too entirely consumed by the nameplate next to shorty's head to pay much attention toward what he was saying:

Olum Treechief

Level: 3

Race: Dwarf

Level 3. What this said to me was that, if I were to murder this little man who had just tried to crush my hand, I could potentially level up. But, I didn't know what the prerequisites were for Level 3 and, sadly, I was fairly certain that I would not yet meet them.

Pity, that. Anyway, I glanced back at Fr3 (Yes, I'm calling him Fr3 now. Turns out it's a much easier name to say than to spell. Bite me). And I blinked at him. "Huh?"

Fr3 just frowned at me. "Well, I was just saying that Mr. Olum here gave us permission to go into the woods this morning if you checked out. And you very obviously, (well done by the way) do. So..."

I shook my head, not following. "If I checked out? What do you mean my 'checked out'?"

He stopped and then his eyes glowed in understanding. "Ohhh. You know, if you really were a druid. And not just some half monster shapeshifter thing. But that was healing magic, sure as I am born. Wouldn't you say, Olum?"

The dwarf just huffed at the question and dropped a roped medallion at my feet. "Eh. Welcome to the Guild of the Worldtree, Mim. Stay as long as you like, I guess. But if you eat, you hunt. Those are the rules."

He turned to Fr3 and grunted, "You two already wasted half the day. You're going to be hungry tonight if you don't get moving." Then he turned and stalked away.

I blinked up at Fr3, fumbling the medallion quietly over my head. Tucking it away in the front of my ruined shirt. "That... went well?"

He was busy buckling the straps underneath his breastplate, sword already dangling awkwardly at his side, "he's right you know. I know you wear a catform, but that doesn't mean that you have to be nocturnal. Let's go, no time to get you proper clothes or anything now. Not if you want any dinner."

As we quickly donned our gear and walked away from the camp of The World Tree, we entered a forest of... slightly... smaller birches. The forest hummed with the sounds of nature - birdsong, the occasional cricket. The buzzing of bees and fly's. It was almost relaxing, really, if it wasn't for the fact that it seemed like Fr3's every nerve was on edge with every step.

Eventually, in silence, we came upon a cavern. Well, it wasn't a cavern really, so much as a burrowed hole in the ground large enough for a man. The edges looked ancient and rounded, rocks dangling precariously across the edges, and a strange, terrible smell wafted out from beneath. 

He started to turn away, but he paused. Obviously fighting with some thought that had just come upon him. He turned to me, then, and looked me up and down - undressing me with his eyes but, not like a man craving the image of nakedness, only more like a predictor assessing its coming meal. "Hey," he said. Obviously forcing the wheels in his mind to spin. "I'm a tank, and you're a healer." 

"No shit," I deadpanned.

He shook his head, as if to clear away the cobwebs. "No, you don't get it. We have a healer in our party! You!" He was obviously, very excited.

I blinked at him again. "Do I really need to answer that?"

He just turned, apparently having had enough of my lack of enthusiasm in his revelation. He started on again, but this time straight into the hole in the ground. "Stay out of the way, and keep me healed!" He shouted as he disappeared into the shadows. 

I hesitated, myself, stunned at the sheer levels of ineptitude assaulting me. "Hey, Captain Obvious," I shouted, "Don't split the fucking party. Hold on!"

And, with that, I scrambled after him into the dank hole in the dirt. Crossing my fingers that he wasn't as stupid as he currently looked.

Ya, who was I kidding. We were fucked.