I watch as the hero-party embarks onto the small wooden boat that is tethered to the shore of the inlet. It’s bigger than a small rowboat, but not by much. In fact, it seems to be just big enough for the group of adventurers to sit together somewhat cramped as if they were one too many. The hero goes in first, as is tradition, and then the rest of the party follow him in. Adventuring parties don’t really follow much of a social hierarchy. Everyone is on even footing more or less, even if the universe has decided that the hero is above all of them.

  What a strange conundrum it is. Ooh! Here he is, the man chosen by the human gods to… do whatever it is he’s supposed to do, and he’s just here, sitting with the rest of them in the old, dinky, little boat. All of them chatting away as if they were best friends. As if they were all equals. I’m a little jealous. Still, there is a natural tendency of events here. The hero, even if he follows his human doctrine of social equality, still takes the lead. He still always walks at the front of the party, he always takes the first step, leading the pack as the human champion. Yet he lets them speak to him as equals at the same time. Why, I wonder?

  Is it something in his lizard-brain that hisses with delight when he unconsciously asserts his superiority over others? Some voice he doesn’t even know he’s hearing? Or is he just so overbearingly protective of his friends that he will put himself first, before any danger, not in a display of social dominance but in one of custodial shepherding. Do you show them the way, hero? Do you show them that they too can step forward? To what patricianship do you belong, I wonder? Ooh!

  I swing from tree to tree, moving closer to the edge of the bayou as I head towards the one closest to the boat. I don’t have many things to throw, but I have sticks. Many sticks. Problem is, the more sticks I throw, then less tree here. Less tree for safety, tell you what.

  My eyes see the monk who is laying back lazily in the back of the boat, her hands locked behind her head as she snoozes away with her head on the lap of the annoyed thief. Not a care in the world. She can sleep well, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about the things in the bad water. They only have good water by boat. River water. Haha, but monk dumb. Dumb dumb! There things in good water too. Not bad things, but crawly things. Bitey things. Why you sleep? Why you sleep? Don’t know how bad things are! Don’t know about bad water! Bad! Ooh!

She yawns and says something to the thief with closed eyes as they seem to be holding some lazy, summertide conversation.

  The priestess is sitting in-front of them and is braiding the wizard’s hair as they also make smalltalk. All the while, the stoic hero is just sitting at the front silently, watching the water go by. I rub the back of my head, silently wondering what it must be like to always have someone to talk to. I wonder what they talk about all the time? I guess it’s like what I do, right? Like how we talk, guy. Like how I tell you about my day. Maybe it’s like that, but instead of thinking it, they just… say it. And then the other people say things back. It must be nice.

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Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you. But sometimes I feel like our conversations are a little one-sided, you know? Ooh!

  As I watch them here from afar again, I feel a familiar sensation however in the depths of my… being? Existence? Soul? Something down there. A feeling like… like I don’t quite belong to the scene I am seeing, but as if I wanted to. As if I was a hungry urchin, staring through a warm, orange window in the dead of winter from outside. Watching the joviality take place beyond with hungry eyes. Eyes. Hungry eyes. Ooh! The water splashes below myself. Instinctively I lurch the stick in my hand downward and it splashes into the ripple where the bad thing is standing. Ooh! Shoo shoo bad thing! Shoo shoo!

But it doesn’t shoo. Bad thing is always here. It watches me, like I watch hero-party. It wants. Wants. Bad wants. Bad eyes. Ooh!

  The hero-party casts off from the shore, throwing the rope behind them back onto land, as the current of the stream carries them lazily down the meandering river and I return my focus to the task at hand. To stopping them. To-

Uh…

Wait.

  I scratch my head. Am I supposed to be stopping them? Or should I just focus on finding the secret stairs? I mean… out of principle I should be trying to stop them, you know? But on the other hand, I kind of have a different job now. The dungeon-master wants me to leave the dungeon, right? So…

  I grab a new stick from behind myself and look at it, wondering what to do with it. As I ponder, my eyes dart back and forth between it and the boat. Something moves on the front end, the wizard, she is digging through her bag and I watch her curiously lean forward as the priestess is still playing with her long, red hair just behind her.

  Rummaging through that raggedy sack, that I kind of miss being inside for some subconscious reason we won’t get into, she then leans back and pulls out something and holds it in her hand. Something small and red and…

My eyes narrow in suspicion. Wait. Is that…?

I look at the little strip of dried jerky in her hand that she chews on and I feel an anger rise in me. OOH! OOH! MY FOOD! My Fruit! Mine! Mine! OOH!

  Screeching, I lob the stick as hard as I can. It soars through the air with a spiral and thwacks her on the side of the head. She yelps and the jerky flies out of hand and falls into the water with a splash. OOH! OOH! I pound my chest and screech at her for trying to steal my food! My fruit! Mine!

  She rubs her head and looks around to see where it had come from. Her eyes meet mine as I continue to pound on my chest. I can hear the monk laughing at my display. Ooh! I see the wizard’s eyes narrow as the priestess is holding her down in place, trying to get her to sit still and to not rock the boat too much, so she can look at the small, bleeding wound on the girl’s temple.

Fire churns in her tightly clenched fists as she gazes at me with venom, clearly having already decided to burn me to a crisp, despite the priestess’ protests. Perhaps even encouraged by the laughter of the monk.

  But dumb! Dumb dumb! I look down below myself as the ripple moves, as the bad water shifts. As the bad thing leaves my side for a rare moment, to follow the splash that had just come from the river. From the little piece of meat now floating alongside the boat. The single point that all of the bad things in the bayou are now heading towards. As the first wave begins. Ooh!