“Ready to go?” he said as if nothing happened as he came towards the table.
Rosa looked back at him and smiled, and he felt some tension drain away.
“I actually need, like, days, to absorb all this,” she said, tossing a hand with her usual expressiveness. Then she stood up and took Mason’s arms and beamed. “But I can make potions! Like actual heal injuries with magic potions! Isn’t that amazing?”
Mason smiled and pulled her in for a hug.
“Yes, yes it is. I told you it was the right class. At least now I have a reason to keep you around.” He winked, and Rosa spared a glance at Becky with the usual jealousy. She lowered her voice.
“I missed my turn, didn’t I?”
Mason shrugged helplessly before the Mexican came closer and whispered in his ear. “I need to stay here awhile. When you come and get me, come alone.”
“We headin’ out then?” Becky said from behind him, obviously hoping to change the subject.
“Apparently yes, just not Rosa,” Mason said. “But you can go back to Nassau.” He frowned. “I don’t really like you going alone.”
Becky rolled her big, green eyes. “I’m just fine, thank you. I don’t need you protectin’ me, y’know. In fact I’m usually the one…”
“I can take her, druid,” Calypsa said with her hands buried in Streak’s fur, then she looked up and smiled. “It would be the least I could do for your gifts.”
“There you go, then,” Mason said before Becky could respond, then gave her a slap on the ass as he walked towards the edge of the tree. “If you’ve had enough spoiling, Streak, we have a giant to hunt.”
The wolf gave him a side eye but didn’t move, tongue out as the nymphs scratched his neck and ears. Mason whistled, and the wolf jerked like a soldier who’d heard an order, then gave a whiny growl as he padded over.
Thea stood with a frown, waiting until Mason met her eyes. “Be careful, druid. I’d recommend you not face this creature on your own. But then you do have a way of surprising me.”
Mason winked, then took a moment to look at the four beautiful women all watching him, memories of being inside them flashing before his mind…
A very strange masculine prickle of annoyance reminded him he hadn’t managed to complete the group properly, which seemed a very ridiculous feeling he shot right down.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, not even bloody sure who he was talking to and trying to make it sound like he meant all of them. Each of them? How the hell did Blake do this for years…
Then he turned and touched the tree, trying not to overthink it, and vanished back into the woods.
* * *
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said to Streak after a couple miles. All it took from the damn wolf was a quick glance these days and he usually knew what the creature wanted. This one was a little new, and Mason felt his brow raise.
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“We can’t really find you a mate without some other wolves, can we?” he said. “Yes I know it’s not fair. Yes I know I have a lot, but there’s lots of humans around. Well, if we see any packs we’ll take a detour? OK?” He shook his head, glad they were alone, realizing he probably sounded crazy. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I can’t believe my life is dealing with horny, semi-talking wolves now.”
He soon stopped and activated Speak with Nature again, getting a sense from the trees around him if the giant was close, or the last time they’d seen it and going which direction. The nymphs had given him an idea of where it wandered, and his only real ‘plan’ was to follow that path until something gave him better directions.
It let him run full out, at least, flying through the trees with joy as the wind and branches whistled past him at incredible speed. Streak was keeping up almost easily now, huge strides made with grace and power as the animal loped along and sometimes wandered, clearly confident he could catch back up.
He thought about the great tree and the gift of the acorn still burning a hole in his pocket. At first he hadn’t even considered using it except to plant another tree. But the more he thought about Thea’s words, the more unsure he became.
A great tree would take many years to grow. Probably decades. But Mason needed strength now to protect the settlement, to protect those he loved. As he ran on and time passed, he found it harder and harder to resist that logic.
Especially since he might be running to face something beyond him. He’d lost his compound bow, and now carried a goblin recurve that shot with about a quarter of the power. Then he remembered Endless Quiver and seeing more options the last time he used it. He drew his bow, and pulled up the list.
Apparently he could shoot bloody fire arrows. Actually he had a whole range of elements, as well as poison, acid. He grinned and couldn’t help but stop for a test, cycling through the various kinds and sticking them into trees.
Most had some obvious effect but weren’t all that fancy. But his fire arrow lit the damn thing on fire.
“Ah shit.” He scooped handfuls of dirt and managed to put it out, clearing his throat as he felt a little judgment from the slightly burnt tree.
He tried not to think about how long ago he could have been using them. Hadn’t he upgraded Endless Quiver a few levels back? He just hadn’t bloody checked!
But at least he knew now. The upgrade to ‘Tier 2’ had changed things for sure. He tried Trapmaking next, but it didn’t seem wildly different. He expected he had to upgrade it specifically as he had his Claws to have a bigger impact.
His stats were increasing, his defensive and adaptive powers were getting obscene. But his offense was suffering. Even his prize bow hadn’t been keeping up with his strength, the max draw made for a normal man. His goblin bow was like a toy.
It could deliver his special arrows and worked on unarmored flesh at poor range, but that’s about it.
His Claws were much better, and the flexibility was as important as he’d expected. But there was just nothing like the effective killing power of a ranged weapon, especially a bow that produced its own arrows.
Mason decided he would have to start collecting javelins he could throw with more weight and at full strength. But he didn’t see any option with Endless Quiver there. The bow was much faster, obviously, but sometimes you just needed a big piercing spike to throw. Probably against a rock giant…
But there wasn’t much he could do before the fight. He kept going, kept looking, as night passed and day came again. He asked the trees and some of the larger ones kept directing him south or east.
He finally decided to rest and eat a little, then got halfway through building a fire before cursing and using a fire arrow. He wasn’t cold, but staring into a fire helped him think.
And when he started staring at the acorn in his hand, he knew why he’d really started it. He needed more power, and he needed it now. Making an artifact sounded great, but he didn’t know anyone who could remotely do that. The craftsmen of Nassau struggled to make basic items, and he had no idea how to get them leveling faster.
He boiled water in the single can he carried in his pocket, then dropped in the acorn until the water sizzled and turned green.
“Come here, boy.” The wolf smelled it and made a disinterested sound. “I don’t care if it smells bad,” Mason said. “We’re drinking it.” He drank his half, feeling just fine as he helped (forced) the wolf to lap up the rest.
But a minute later, it started to burn. He remembered the pool of wisdom and the crone and winced.
“I’m detecting a theme here,” he sighed as Streak started whining. “Ah yeah, that’s bad.” He groaned and sat as he felt himself sweating. “Yep. Not good.” He curled up and groaned at the agony in his gut, and somewhere in the trees he could have sworn he heard the crone laugh.