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I awoke to my internal game alarm an hour early to avoid the breakfast rush.

Beaker softly hooted at the early interruption of his beauty sleep. He opened his eyes and watched as I dressed.

“We’re out early today. Don’t make any noise—Ally and Ida are asleep in their apartments.”

I stubbed my toe on Beaker’s unused nest frame in the dark. The griffon nest remained a source of frustration. Getting rid of it would nearly double my floor space, but doing so signaled my defeat in teaching my pet to use it.

While Beaker dropped out of the window, I tiptoed down the stairs past the manor offices and meeting table. I wanted to leave town before anyone else awoke for what I expected would be a busy morning—one in which Hawkhurst’s workers returned to the building queue.

Yet few citizens rested over the holiday following the goblin attack. Half the town busied themselves with personal construction projects and gathered supplies for homes and shops. When I visited the Sternways, wood chopping echoed along the northern tree line.

Ally assigned new jobs to citizens last night, so I expected a swarm of hungry workers pressing Rocky’s kitchen. Since I didn’t know what to expect from my southern expedition, I avoided the crowd and the inevitable questions regarding what I might find.

I’d said my goodbyes and gave my farewell orders the day before. The rain had stopped, although the omnipresent mud showed no sign of abating. In places, defiant puddles swallowed the ends of the boardwalk.

I leaped over the worst of these with arms extended to minimize splashes. I didn’t want to set out in a canoe with muddy boots.

Beaker cocked his head whenever I landed, puzzling over my strange new form of locomotion.

I passed the rock garden and temple toward the docks, where Lloyd, Otto, and Gretchen tied off the ferry and located my ride. The orc canoe we salvaged almost a year ago rested on the grassy bank above the waterline. That trip had marked the southernmost point of Otter Lake that I’d seen, and I hoped to go further today.

While searching for the paddle, a squeak caught my attention. I cast Animal Communion and welcomed the visitors. “Is that Mara and Poppy I hear?”

A small otter popped from the weeds sprouting from the waterline.

“It’s me, Toby!” The animal telepathically answered while squeaking out loud. The otters constantly squeaked to stay in touch with one another. Toby ran in a lunging gait, eager to meet a human who spoke to otters.

More squeaks answered Toby. Two adults and two more juvenile otters appeared from the bushes, showing more caution than the gregarious pup.

Toby lifted himself on his hindquarters and sniffed the canoe. “What are you doing? Are you going swimming with us?”

“Not if I can keep my balance. I am going south across the lake. Do you know of any monsters down there?”

Toby turned to the four otters, still huddled by the weeds. “Mom, are we allowed to swim in the lake today?”

The matriarch answered. “No, Toby. That’s not our territory. Never venture into the lake. It’s the Flatrock Family’s domain.”

“Excuse me, Mara. My name is Apache, and I used to be Charitybelle’s boyfriend. Do you remember her?”

“Charitybelle! Why, yes. She gave us worm meat—something we’d never eaten before. She offered us ram, but it had a funny smell. How is she these days?”

“I’m afraid Charitybelle is no longer here. But as you can see, her village is thriving, and we still honor her with rocks. Have you been to our rock garden yet?”

The two adults hopped around me, assaying me from every angle while maintaining a greater distance than their adventurous son, Toby.

Mara answered. “We have, though I knew not of their significance. I haven’t smelled her in a while, so we feared she’d left.”

I grinned at the sophistication behind her thoughts. She showed far more eloquence than Jasper or Beaker. Otters were very smart. “Would you like some more worm meat? I still have loads of it left.”

Mara, Poppy, and their two pups ventured closer as I sliced off and tossed five handfuls of meat from my inventory stores—one for each otter.

The squeaks subsided as the otters munched on their breakfast, but the telepathic chatter never ceased. Many of the questions were silly and esoteric. Have I been to the mountains? Are there fish in trees? Do humans eat grass? What is my favorite color of rock? How long can I hold my breath? What was I doing up so early in the morning? Would Beaker attack them? The pups also asked about my gear—they found it hilarious that people strapped objects to themselves.

The questions came so quickly that I only had time to address their concern about my Familiar. I’d long since forbade Beaker from hunting otters. I explained to them that Beaker was a fellow apex predator, and I’d trained him to leave otters alone.

The otters were curious, yet fearful. I drew Gladius Cognitus and pointed him down non-threateningly, showing them how his tip made a line of light. The otters lost all qualms and immediately reached for the glowing ribbon, pawing in the air to see if they could hold it. When Gladius spoke in his vibrating tone, they flinched but quickly recovered their courage.

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“What adorable little creatures. If you don’t mind me saying so, you are an unpredictable wielder. One can never guess what situation you’ll brandish me for next.”

“They’re jumpy, aren’t they?”

It took longer than expected for them to tire of Gladdy’s glowing squiggles. The distraction made them less fearful, and the pups renewed their flurry of questions. While they bombarded me, Mara and I conversed.

“So, the Flatrock Family owns the lake?”

“Some of it. Northshore is the extent of our territory. We’re not supposed to be this close to the waterline. If they attack, we flee inland. They still fear the worm and won’t pursue.”

“If I remember correctly, you control the river.”

“South river, mostly, below the bugbears.”

“Have you seen orcs?”

“All the time, though, we know to avoid them. They kill otters careless enough to become caught on land.” At this, Mara asked her pups if they knew to run from orcs until each echoed her caution.

“Have you seen any unusual orc activity in the past few weeks?” We expected orc scouts since I set Iremont smoke signals to everyone around.

“Orcs haven’t entered the water for quite some time. They mostly dwell on the eastern shore, though sightings are rare.”

Mara’s report gave me nothing but good news. “Can you tell us if you see anything strange? Yula is a friendly orc, and she has Animal Communion. If you see other orcs, she’d happily trade worm meat for news from upriver.”

“We know Yula. We’ve talked before but didn’t know she had worm meat.”

“Well, she doesn’t. But if you talk to her, tell her to get some from Rocky. Do you want some more?” I extended the worm meat to the otters, still chomping down the hunks I’d already given them.

“No, this is more than we can eat now. We’ve already had breakfast.”

“I have to scoot into the water now. I’m paddling south to the far side of the lake.”

At the mention of me leaving, the pups tried to rekindle the discussion with more nonsensical questions. I politely ignored them and bid their parents adieu.

“Farewell, Apache, and stay safe. Watch out for the Flatrock Family.”

“Don’t worry. You’re my favorite otters.”

Toby tried to follow when I pushed off into the water, but Mara’s chiding coaxed him back to the shore. Extinguishing Animal Communion muted the telepathic babble.

The silence in my head washed over me like a comfortable bath. I sent my griffon a telepathic message. “Beaker, do you know you’re a good pet? I couldn’t survive having an otter Familiar. They have way too much energy.”

Beaker gave a blissfully short answer. “It’s time to fly! I’m hunting for fish!” His beating wings made enough noise that I thought he might wake Otto or Gretchen in the inn. My Familiar lifted from the shoreline and surveyed the lake in wide, lazy passes. I admired his power to move air. Forren’s growth bonus had done him well in the past year. He still wasn’t as big as his mother, but becoming a young adult had made him a strong flier. He showed no interest in carrying me, but I harbored hope.

Before the winds picked up, I paddled west and down the familiar profile of the Highwall mountains, partially sheltering myself from the winds blowing toward the inner lake. It had been a while since I surveyed the western shoreline. My journey south served as an opportunity to reconnoiter territory we’d promised the kobolds to avoid. If I saw any points of interest inland, I’d mark them on my map for later adventuring.

Aside from the wind, it surprised me how slowly a canoe moved across a lake. Aside from the offhand dinosaur or two, Hawkhurst saw little activity along the shore. I occupied myself by figuring out my speed based on my position on the map and the game’s internal clock. Paddling into the wind earned my first Exhaustion debuff around noon, though I’d only crossed a dozen miles.

Pushing on, I missed having Yula in the canoe. I hadn’t appreciated the propulsion she provided and missed having another set of arms.

Instead, I shouldered an unproductive partner. Though Beaker’s company comforted me, he increased our wind profile. I couldn’t convince him to hunker down. He insisted on perching on the bow and straddling the gunwales. He sat high, serving as an unwanted sail. After hours of hassling and unproductive paddling, I dismissed the big turkey.

I wasn’t sure how he’d materialize if I needed to summon him. Would he appear in the air or the canoe? Perhaps he’d flounder on the surface beside me—for I’d never seen him floating on the water like a duck. It seemed to be one of those questions about life that I’d never asked—can all birds float on water? Could griffons?

The vessel’s size accommodated multiple orcs. With only one person paddling, tracking in the canoe proved erratic, and I constantly had to switch sides to maintain a heading.

It seemed a shame to leave Yula behind, but she served Hawkhurst as a military asset in an emergency or possibly a diplomat in case orcs showed. She could interpret and predict hostile behavior, providing a perspective that none of the battle-hardened Fort Krek veterans could offer.

Using her muscles as a draft horse would be selfish, though my aching shoulders differed in opinion. By mid-afternoon, I spent my reserve energy and leaned back in the canoe to rest. I paddled the canoe into a field of reeds. The vegetation grew thick enough to prevent the wind from carrying me to deep water, though if I fell asleep and the wind picked up, I couldn’t be sure.

My one-day trip to the relic would take three, but the immediate dilemma involved how I should spend the night. I couldn’t hoist the canoe into the Dark Room, nor did I bring an anchor. Pulling it ashore at night broke our treaty with the kobolds, and I couldn’t risk them destroying it at night. Touring their dungeon taught me that water didn’t bother kobolds. If they patrolled the shoreline or enjoyed it for any reason, they’d undoubtedly discover my only means of travel.

I listened to the water gently lapping against its sides as I rested in the canoe. I studied the clouds drifting above me. They formed round, well-defined shapes, not the usual fuzzy, shapeless things that covered the skies when I left Hawkhurst. Cumulonimbus formations usually meant rain, something else I hadn’t prepared for, but for now, they served as a Rorschach test for my imagination. Their shadows and highlights evoked the likeness of a lion and a clown’s face. I’d never stared at the clouds at length before. Focusing on one grouping, I perceived it morphing as it lazily sailed across the sky.

The atmosphere’s malleability struck me with awe. Clouds danced to forces beyond our domain. They seemed discontented to hold their shape—billowing, expanding, and rolling in on themselves. These white giants soared over our heads, indifferent to the petty events unfolding beneath them. They traveled our skies to unknown fates, never to return. The majestic procession of clouds passed over our heads, and anyone not concentrating on the slow-motion choreography missed the ensemble.

I’d never watched clouds so closely before.

As the sun set early behind the Highwall mountains, I ate dinner, resolving to turn in before my usual bedtime. I could have just ignored eating with my Necklace of Sustenance, a prize I pulled from the drax hatchling. But the ritual of consuming food grounded me, and a full belly felt natural.

Daydreaming beneath the clouds refreshed me enough to realize I’d been sitting on the solution to my mooring dilemma. After the sunset, I paddled far from shore and tossed the Dark Room rope in the air to summon my escape room. Dangling from the Dark Room hung the anchor line I’d forgotten about. I climbed into the transdimensional space after lashing the canoe to the Dark Room’s rope. I removed my gear, collapsed into bed, and fell asleep in seconds.