“Filthy animal, don’t stand there!”

Owen heard Bimpnottin shouting from all the way down the hall. Now just what was that damned cow doing now? Rounding the corner, Owen spotted the dairy animal glowering down at the gnome, one hoove set on the soil Bimpnottin was tending to.

“Coo,” Owen said in warning, stepping forward. Hearing the dominant voice, Coo retreated. Standing still as if he hadn’t did whatever he was doing. His large beady eyes looked everywhere but where Owen stood; as if Coo was inspected the rock ceilings and walls.

“My Lord,” Bimpnottin said, running up to him. “He was standing on my soil!”

“I saw that.” Owen sighed, and fully turned to address the dairy cow. “I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying, but stop tormenting Bimpnottin, or else your meat will taste good on the smoker.” Coo shrunk back at the threat. He turned back to the gardener. “Actually, Coo is why I’m here.”

“Because of that thing?” Bimpnottin glared at the cow from behind Owen.

“Yes. She is a dairy cow. I thought it was about time to get some use of her. For all she eats, it better be worth it.”

“Cheese,” said Bimpnottin, licking his lips as he looked at the cow in a new light.

“Yes, cheese.” Owen smiled as Coo backed away further. If the wall wasn’t there, she’d have kept on retreating until she had disappeared. But there was nowhere to run. “But also whipped cream, yoghurt, butter. It will transform our food supply a lot. So, as much as you don’t like it, I need your help to milk Coo.”

Bimpnottin nodded and rubbed his hands together. “We can help. We remember mumma milking the local cow. Think we remember how to do it.”

“Good, because I have no idea,” Owen said, shaking his head. “But how hard can it be?”

It turned out to be very difficult.

With Coo in her very own room, which Owen made certain to make it expansive, Coo thrust her leg as Bimpnottin tried his best to milk the cow.

“Blimey,” Bimpnottin spat, jumping out of the danger zone. “It almost took my head off.”

Owen rushed to the front and did his best to calm down Coo. But it was futile. She wasn’t a bull, but there was little difference when she was pissed off. Steam practically ejected out of her nostrils.

Thoughts spinning, his mind moved to what could possibly calm down the raging cow. Then he remembered why she was so obsessed with tormenting the gnomish gardener. It was all because of his plants; the food.

“I have an idea to calm her down,” Owen said, narrowly avoiding his fingertips from being chomped off. It seemed milking Coo was a sensitive subject. So he had to reward her first. An advance payment. “Wait here.”

“Wait, you can’t leave me with it—”

Despite Bimpnottin’s protests, Owen had already vanished in the passageways of the mountain. A few minutes later he returned with a handful of different plants and fruit fresh from Bimpnottin’s garden. One of them in particular was one of Bimpnottin’s prized possessions; a new strain of fruit. Outwardly, it looked eerily similar to a watermelon. Seeing it, Bimpnottin’s expression fell.

“Don’t,” he said, ignoring the cow that had turned, licking her lips seeing the fruit.

“I know you’ve worked hard on it,” Owen explained. “But getting Coo’s milk would be a huge accomplishment. Just think of the cheese.”

“Cheese…” Bimpnottin struggled while he fidgeted on the spot. “Well, we suppose it won’t be too difficult to raise it again.” He looked up at Owen with narrowed eyes. “Did you leave the root?”

“I left the root.”

BImpnottin sighed in relief. “Okay good.”

“So, can I feed it to her?”

Bimpnottin simply nodded, too pained to affirm with his words. Or perhaps he was trying to stop himself from drooling as he thought about the potential of cheese.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Carefully approaching the danger zone of Coo’s back legs, Owen rounded the animal and appeared at the front. “Okay, so we’ll give you a gift in return for allowing us to milk you. Fair exchange?” Owen didn’t know if Coo understood him, but her long tongue lashed around the round fruit in his hand and crushed it within her mouth. Her eyes lit up as red juices dripped from the corners of her mouth. Perhaps it was designed like a watermelon? Owen had to resist drooling thinking about the fruit himself as he nodded to Bimpnottin.

Cautiously, Bimpnottin reached for the udder, squeezed, then pulled down, aiming for a hollowed out fruit skin that he had gotten from his garden room. White milk shot out from the udder. Coo twitched, resulting in Bimpnottin jumping back. Owen tensed. Bimpnottin, with sweat forming on his forehead, crept back to his spot as he cautiously took hold of the udder again. He pulled down, and milk flowed.

Owen watched Coo with a steady gaze, as if warning her not to attack. Thankfully, she listened, allowing Bimpnottin to milk her until at least 12 containers were filled to the brim, liquid sloshing around. Owen surmised that Coo would allow them to milk more, so Owen dashed back to grab more of the fruit containers. Bimpnottin appeared to be collecting them for recycling uses. Thanks to that, they stopped at 21 containers full. Any more, and Owen feared that Coo would get angry.

Sighing in relief, Owen and Bimpnottin brought the containers back to his garden. It took multiple trips to return with all of them. Once it was done, both of them just stood there for a moment. Then, they looked at each other with a realisation.

“We need proper storage,” Bimpnottin said.

“Yes, that was a little oversight. Not to worry, I’ll go down to the smithy and see if Cindrelle can whip up something.”

“Isn’t she a blacksmith? You may have better luck asking some of the Hunters.”

“I feel like if she can craft intricate armour and advanced weapons, she can make something to store milk. If not wood, then a big metal container. Stainless steel.”

“Stainless steel?” Bimpnottin looked at him, confused.

“It’s something from my world, don’t worry about it,” Owen said. “But, if she can’t do that, then I’ll see the Hunters. What about you? Are you good with crafting anything?”

“Nope.” Bimpnottin crouched down at where his prized fruit was located. He whispered something to the stalk that remained. Maybe an apology, but Owen didn’t hear it.

“Right then,” Owen said, approaching the tunnels. “I’ll be back shortly. Make sure you don’t knock over the milk.” Owen wasn’t sure if Bimpnottin heard him, but he was already making his way down to where Cindrelle was located, along with the Miners.

Walking into Cindrelle’s designated smithing room, a blast of hot, smoky air struck him. Coughing and wafting the smoke away from his face, it lasted only a moment before all of the putrid air was sucked inward—straight for Cindrelle. She sucked it all in like a hoover, then burped.

“Excuse me,” she said, embarrassed. “My Lord, what brings you here?”

Owen explained what he wanted; a thin container that could hold and cool a mass amount of liquid. Owen received bad news. In theory, she could do it. But the metal required would prove difficult to get. At least, Bron hadn’t seen any other material yet. Whether they weren’t deep enough yet, or this mountain didn’t have it, was yet to be determined.

The fact was, Owen needed something to store the milk before it turned bad. Cindrelle came up with an alternative. If she had a large vessel made of wood, or something else, she could reinforce it with the Sandsteel that they had on hand.

Excusing himself, Owen went on a mission to find someone—anyone—that had any skills in making a barrel. Only after a lot of asking around on the surface did he find the person he needed: the hunter Aelar. An elf, he was adept with the forest. Because of that, he had picked up on certain things needed for survival. A barrel for water storage was one of them.

Aelar was happy to take on the mission, but they were missing one core ingredient; wood. Owen was already aware of that, and that was where Bimpnottin came in. And he just happened to have exactly what they needed. Thankfully, he was already working on wood cactus, so he had plenty at their disposal.

Testing the material for a short amount of time, Aelar got to work. It would take a while before it was ready, so Owen returned to the castle. Already, he had noticed a few things wrong. Builders were already actively patching holes and cracked bricks in the castle. An entire section had even shifted a little; a result of the apocalyptic wave, he bet.

Reaching the top, he saw Pyris who was currently talking with Lome. She was frowning.

Owen approached and Pyris rose to attention. Her eyes said that she was about to come and see him. “My Lord,” she said.

Owen nodded. “I can see something’s the matter.”

“We have reports of something large approaching from the north.”

“The north?” Owen asked and instantly looked in the direction, but he couldn’t see anything but hot desert. “How do we know? Our Hunters and Scouts can’t go that far.”

Pyris shook her head. From under the table, she brought out a small scorpion. A baby, Owen guessed. A creature as small as that was rare in the Cursed Land. The smaller, the more dangerous it was. Usually. It wriggled, dangling from its stinger, trying to break free, but Pryris’s fingers were an iron grip.

“We don’t need to send out scouts to know something dangerous is approaching. Many bugs such as this one are travelling our way. Some more dangerous than others.”

Owen frowned at her words. He was aware of the threats of the Cursed Lands, way more than anyone else, for that matter. He knew what was out there; what could be coming their way. He nodded. “Have everyone retreat within the mountain. Raise the defence. No-one’s to go out hunting for the next few days.”

As Balthus bowed and retreated, eagerly ready to complete his duties, Owen felt Pyris’s instinct was correct.

Something was coming.