Walking out of my cave the next day, I feel a mixture of glee and guilt at the sight of my new Bound still lying at the entrance. It’s awake, looking at me with calm eyes, not seeming to be railing against its loss of freedom the way I would have. Though that could be another function of the Bond, for all I know. I remember my resolution of the evening before and look at it squarely.

“I’m sorry,” I say first, taking myself a little by surprise. It was hard to start, and I hadn’t intended on apologising to start off with, but somehow it seems...right. “I’m sorry that I took you out of your life, that I captured you and...bound you to my will. I did it because I need your help. In return, I promise I will do what I can to make your life better and easier than it probably would have been.” I pause, hesitating a little, before deciding to go ahead. “As a sign of this commitment, I give you a name.” Here I hesitate again, not having actually chosen one.

“I’ll call you...Spike,” I end up deciding. It’s not the best of names, rather too descriptive to be funny or cute, but it’ll do. At least it’ll be easy to remember! There’s a moment in which the porcupig – newly-named Spike – doesn’t move or do anything really, before it seems like something clicks. For a moment, something else appears in Spike’s eyes, an emotion too complex and too fleeting for me to even have a hope of decoding it. Then the moment’s over and it’s like nothing happened. I get a nagging sensation, but ignore it for now – I can always check my messages later. Hopefully Spike will respond to the name from now on. It should, if my understanding of what Kalanthia said last night is correct. Now, first things first. “Are you hungry, Spike?”

Surprise, surprise – no response. Hmm. Maybe that was a bit too complex. How about… “If you’re hungry, stamp twice with your front foot. If you’re not hungry, stamp once,” I say, trying to concentrate on what I want it to do, an image coming in my mind of it stamping twice for yes and once for no. Spike stamps twice. OK, that’s good to know.

“OK,” I say. “Are you thirsty? Stamp once for no, twice for yes.” Spike stamps twice again. Hm, seems like the concept has been proven… “Alright, let’s go and get some food. Follow me.” I head down the hill to the river and invite Spike to drink as I fill my canteen, drink deeply, and fill it again. I’m hungry too, but I’ve decided that now would be a good time for me to start expanding my diet to more than just meat.

In the river, clinging onto rocks and growing thickly in spots where the current isn’t so strong is the same type of pondweed that I tested a few days ago. I’d meant to continue testing it, but considering what I’ve been doing with the last few days, I couldn’t work up the motivation. Now, though, I’m starting to get a bit sick of just meat, and even slimy pondweed seems at least slightly appealing.

I reach in and grab the nearest plant. I’d tested the leaf before, so I’d better do the same now. It’s logical since the weed is mostly leaf, so that would be the most efficient thing to eat – if it’s edible. I pull off a fragment of leaf and then hesitate.

Do I cook it or eat it raw? It’s more likely to be edible cooked, but then I won’t be able to say for sure it’s edible raw, even if the test goes well… Then I think, would I want to eat it raw? And the answer is no...but then I’ll have to make sure I always have a supply of cooked stuff in my Inventory, which is not practical.

Perhaps it seems a little stupid to be spending time debating about cooked or uncooked pondweed, but sorting this out in my brain now will set the trend going forwards. In the end, I decide I’d better bite the bullet and do my first test uncooked. The reasons for this are simple: uncooked pondweed is in much more plentiful supply than cooked pondweed; if it’s edible uncooked, it’s almost certain to be fine when cooked, though I will have to be careful when combining it with other foods; finally, I frankly can’t be bothered to set up a fire right now and wait for the leaf to cook.

So, taking a tiny piece of the leaf, I brush it gently against my lips. The skin is so sensitive there that any symptoms should be quick to show up. When a couple of minutes go by without a problem, I place the piece of leaf in my mouth and then perch on a boulder. I don’t chew, I don’t swallow, and I pay particular attention to the sensations in my mouth. Is that prickling I feel on my tongue? No, it’s just my tongue drying out, I decide after a moment.

Time passes. Without a watch, I don’t know how long, but when I’m pretty certain that at least fifteen minutes have gone past with no issues, I move onto the next step: chewing. Similarly, I chew for approximately fifteen minutes, paying attention to my symptoms. The pondweed isn’t exactly tasty – it’s got a bland, slightly bitter taste, maybe a bit like spinach, but I suppose that’s better than tasting horrible. So far, so good in terms of the symptoms. Now the dangerous bit. Swallowing.

I suddenly find myself sweating, the absorbed knowledge of flora not helping my nerves as memories flash through my mind of everything that could possibly go wrong with ingesting something poisonous. In the end, I manage to swallow, but only by taking a big gulp of water with the fragments of leaf that remain after so much chewing in my suddenly dry mouth.

Right, that’s it. If I get any symptoms in the next eight hours, I’ll have to do my best to make myself vomit. If not, it’s a good indication that the plant might be OK to eat, though I’ll have to do further testing, of course.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

My stomach growls. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to eat any breakfast. Or lunch. Nothing but clean water for the next eight hours or it could interfere with my test. It should be OK as long as I keep myself busy. Many are my vices, but over-indulgence of food is one that’s rare for me. It’s not the gym or a super-healthy diet which has kept the pounds off; it’s the tyranny of my work-life balance, or the lack thereof. It isn’t – wasn’t – unusual for me to skip lunch as I often forgot to take something with me and rarely had the time to go and buy something, let alone the time to eat it. In fact, it wasn’t unheard of for me to skip breakfast too when I had to go into work early or was in a rush in the morning for whatever reason, meaning that I didn’t eat until I got home.

In short, I can handle a bit of fasting. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. I carefully avoid the thought that my work before this was only a fraction as physically demanding as my life now. If I keep busy, it’ll be fine, I tell myself dismissively.

Still, just because I can’t eat doesn’t mean my follower can’t. And besides, I need to work out what he – or she – eats for future reference.

“OK, Spike, go find some food,” I tell him – or her. “Come back to me when you’re satisfied.” The porcupig looks at me for a moment before turning and starting to snuffle through the leaves around. I keep an eye on his – going to go with male unless I find out differently – progress, noting what he finds at the same time as looking around me.

So far, it seems like he’s primarily herbivorous, but is perfectly happy to eat any insects or worms he comes across. At one point while we were walking, he dug up a load of tubers which looked kind of similar to long potatoes. Actually, I suppose they looked kind of like sweet potatoes, but with thicker, paler skin. I grabbed a couple and put them in my Inventory too – maybe I should try cooking these once I’m done testing the pondweed. From what I can see, if they’re connected to the foliage Spike dug up to get at them, they’re reasonably common. Besides, I could always try cultivating them just as I need to do with the samova beans I’ve saved.

I look at the sun. It’s already halfway to its zenith and I do want to get some more things done than just following my new pet porcupig around. He’ll be OK to roam around, won’t he? It’s a dangerous world around here, but he’s clearly survived to becoming an adult so… In the end, I put that question against the fact that, as a herbivore, he probably spends the majority of his time finding stuff to eat, and that I don’t have the time every day to follow him around and protect him while he finds nosh. If I can grow enough food to feed him without him needing to leave my side, great, but that’s not the case at the moment.

“Spike,” I say and he pauses, looking back at me. “I’m going to go back to the cave. I want you to continue looking for food until you’re satisfied. When you’ve had enough, come back to me. If you feel you’re in danger, make a loud noise.” As I give the command, I focus hard on what I want him to do – it seemed to work well enough earlier. Feeling moderately satisfied, I suddenly realise something – I’ve never heard a porcupig make a loud noise. I don’t even know if they can. “Just, before I go, make the loudest noise you can.”

For a moment, I think he hasn’t understood me, but then he lets rip with what might be the worst noise I’ve ever heard. I’m very glad that I asked him to demonstrate, because it sounds like he’s dying. No, in fact, that he’s being tortured to death. If I’d heard that for the first time when I wasn’t right next to him, knowing that he’s fine, I think I would have had a heart attack.

“Right…” I say faintly, my ears ringing. “Good. Um, so, I’ll see you later, then.” With that, I turn and stumble away. Of course, it’s not a great idea to go walking in the forest without having all my faculties operating properly. It’s a reminder that hits me smack in the face – literally.

Well, not quite literally – it smacks me in the chest. Distracted as I am, I only catch the faintest of flickers in my peripheral vision before it hits, not enough to dodge. The hit is painful, not particularly from the impact itself, but from the spikes all over the dark-coloured ball which strikes. They pierce my thin clothes like needles and blood spills when the ball withdraws. Still disorientated, it takes me a moment to realise that the ball is attached to a long, dark cord hanging from above.

Looking up, I realise it’s the same creature which I saw before; the difference is that last time I managed to avoid its attack. It’s out of reach of my knife, or even my mace. I start wishing for a spear or bow, but unfortunately, wishing isn’t going to make them materialise. Baring my teeth angrily, I instead grab some stones from the ground and start throwing them at the creature.

Its reaction is to curl up tighter, bringing its tail up to help protect it too. I’m not making much progress, it seems, but I also can’t really see the creature’s objectives. The strike was painful but the wounds are not likely to make me bleed out any time soon. How is this supposed to do anything?

When my vision blurs a little, I think it’s from a drop of sweat dripping into my eyes. When it blurs again, and for more than a fraction of a second, I realise that it’s more concerning than I’d first thought. Now I realise the creature’s objectives – it’s not all that dissimilar from a venomous snake, injecting its poison into its prey, then waiting for the prey to succumb.

Casting Lay-on-hands immediately, I feel a swoop in my stomach as it seems to have little effect. At least, it doesn’t feel like the previous times I’ve been poisoned and felt Lay-on-hands sweep through my veins like a wave of coolness to wash away the poison. This time, the healing magic heals the wounds of the initial strike but then it just fizzles out, as if there’s nothing else for it to heal.

I feel panic start to take over. Even if I manage to get a lucky blow and kill this creature – unlikely from what I’ve seen so far – I can’t throw rocks at the poison creeping through my veins. I don’t have a health potion, or any sort of anti-venom. If my body can’t fight this off on its own, I’m dead.