When Damon woke up, he was hungrier than he'd ever been before. Yet also somehow more comfortable than he'd been since waking in this strange, new world. It was that sort of dormant, prodding hunger of waking up from cutting weight for a competition, right on target. Usually a couple of pounds below a healthy fighting weight, to be sure.
The sun’s beams were shining down strong again, enough to evaporate the leftover puddles before noon at the current rate. It made Damon hot from both directions, reminding him of the blanket he hadn’t seen in two weeks.
The fever had finally broken, which was why it was difficult to remember what had happened. When Damon realized he was lying on something warm, he sprang up immediately, suddenly afraid of what he would find.
What he found was an annoyed goat, who’d been hoping to enjoy his new blankie for a few more minutes. The goat bleated at him, making Damon quickly correct himself: Greatmane Billy Chimera*.
Which seemed to work because the bleat never turned into that roar from before.
Damon looked around, and realized smilingly how he really was finally over his sickness. He went over to one of the rain puddles, drinking his fill with a blissful look on his face.
Then his stomach reminded him that he still needed food.
He looked over to the goat, as his stomach grumbled.
No, belly. Friend.
Damon then came to the decision that he would need to explore in a new direction today. One hopefully leading to either a water source, or possibly some edible vegetation? There's gotta be some something, other than grass.
He did not quite feel ready to go on a hunt out there, not yet.
The following trip took more than three hours of jogging, while zig-zagging in between hills, but Damon finally found a small creek running past a few more black sand dunes. Although these ones seemed to lack a distinctive name, according to his minimap.
Spending that time exploring, Damon finally felt like he was starting to learn his bearings. If he could secure a replenishable source of food, he'd have the basics covered, and he could start focusing on his search for the others, and gaining that crucial level.
But for now, Damon sat down by the creek, in the hopes that a fish would swim by, while he came up with a plan for what to do next.
These hills clearly had an ecosystem. Damon needed to find where he fit into it.
Somewhere in between weird Lion-goat creatures and giant turtle kings, hopefully.
Having at least located a safe source of water, Damon went to take the opposite path when returning back to his cavern. He wanted to fill out as much of the map as possible, while his strength remained.
It was while jogging in a crouch that Damon recalled the birds he had spotted circling on previous days. There's gotta be nests hidden somewhere.
All in all there were surprisingly few critters around, although he had seen a few other four-legged creatures roaming in the distance for the past few days, unfortunately too far off to identify.
Or [Identify], rather.
So Damon opted to start searching the occasional thicket of tall grass, with the far-fetched hopes of finding hidden eggs.
Without much luck.
Right up until the 47th look-see, where he suddenly startled a roosting parent, who took off in a panic. A hopeful Damon peered into the bush with great anticipation, and was rewarded by the sight of two small eggs.
A starving man's treasure.
Success.
He ate well that night, for a change.
Nom. Yolky success.
Although the raw eggs tasted oddly of blood.
Still delicious.
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To his surprise the great goat was still around when he returned, having stayed busy scrounging up another bark-covered tree trunk from somewhere. Damon had failed to consider it the night before, having simply thought that it was a given seeing random one-off salvage after some heavy rains—but now, with two such thick tree trunks in evidence—Damon had to question if the goat wasn't sourcing them somewhere locally?
Too bad it doesn't talk.
If there were building materials around then Damon wanted to know about it. Meanwhile the goat seemed to consider the bark merely added spice, eating well into the actual trunk and turning them near useless as well; only leaving the hardened cores alone.
The two of them enjoyed a companionable dinner that night, before enjoying each other's bodies for a couple of hours.
...
A massage, he gave the goat a massage.
Damon went to sleep that night feeling glad to have made his first friend.
Of course, when he woke back up in the morning the goat was gone.
Damon heaved a sigh at the shameful abandonment, then spent the rest of his day foraging for eggs while filling out his map and finishing the hidden safety room at the back of his cavern—before making a trip past the creek and refilling properly on liquids.
Damon was back to feeling strong again, unnaturally so. Tomorrow I'll be ready to start hunting, even if I have to run something down from a mile off.
Turns out he needn't have worried.
Instead, his new friend brought the hunt right back to the pit.
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It was only an hour past sundown, with Damon just about to consider his new, colder sleeping arrangements set for the night; when he heard the familiar roar echoing across the plains, followed by a cacophony of yowls, yarrs and barks.
Oh no.
Damon immediately figured his new friend was in trouble, the question was of what magnitude. It would take quite the beast after all, to stand their ground against that roar, despite how they were ultimately facing a… well, a goat.
His friend had evidently run into something confident.
Or numerous.
When Damon crested his dark dune, he looked to the grassy hill straight across from his vantage, immediately spotting a pack of speckled wild hounds harassing the proud, roaring goat, while failing to angle and get in front and at the neck—forced to instead focus in on the hindquarters; quarters that struck with concussive clacks whenever a hound miscalculated the distance and got caught out by a hoofed back kick.
There were close to two dozen of the beasts, yet despite a few getting struck down, they appeared unnaturally resilient. Even the one bashed in the head was getting back up, having only had a few seconds to recover.
Damon knew straight away that he needed to interfere, or watch his only friend slowly get eaten in front of his eyes.
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Looking at the angle of their approach, Damon was reminded of his earlier adventures. He had to come up with a plan quick; since it looked like his friend wasn't gonna be able to make it all the way up the hill and into the pit. They're chasing blindly... okay. Let's not make this overly complicated.
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Bad start to suntime, today.
Stinging rays.
Stomach aches. Ate too much medicinal bark last night, n having to rise too soon from a comfy spot.
Bad start to morning, exorcise the belly demons. Running until the backward pop. But thank goodness the tensions release; Aaaah. Ah.
Oh no. The wetness. Smelly leg.
Cannot return yet. Need a visit to creek, should not appear undignified in front of a new, ordained buttscratcher.
Gulp. Swish.
Better.
But cold feeling won't leave body now, older, stiff. Still not fully recovered from amalgamation malformation... Sigh.
Hmz. Let us walk slowly to hidden bark valley, collect more medicine. Stay hidden, stay careful, in case of wrong bark.
...
Damn it. Met the wrong bark.
The young, unreasonable hounds.
Of all the bastard packs.
Oh? Don't want to share road to good sticks?
Roar, to say they must. Oh no, they figured it out, all roar and no fangs, still.
Run. Run. Run.
Stiff. Stiff. Stiff.
Damn it, they still catching up.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
Where run? Where go? Little green friends too far. Big mountain still smoky.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Where go?
Oh. Oh. Still go back Dark Sands pit? New guy, buttscratcher?
Maybe they eat the low-level skinny monkey boyo instead?
Good plan.
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As the [Greatmane Billy Chimera] reached the valley between the hills and accelerated up the final incline, with that pack of barking, speckled hounds tight on its heels—Damon was struck with the brilliant idea of curling himself into a ball and rolling downhill, right at them.
Yes, like a bowling ball.
It was brilliant; if you only had 15 seconds flat to think of a plan and act, before it would be too late.
The idea was that the Billy would theoretically see him coming and be able to make the leap over, while the hounds would be getting bowled over by more than a 100 kilo of speeding Damon.
There was no room for hesitation.
Damon got up, sprinted over the ridge, then dove into a ball.
He rolled, and rolled, rolling—
Strike.
Pained howls, broken bones and the whole pack in shockingly sudden disarray, with their prey having successfully covered the view of the incoming lunatic, leaping away only at the very last second.
The only thing Damon had failed to theorize beforehand was how he himself would be feeling, by the end. But the answer did occur to him while he was rolling.
Dizzy.
The answer was dizzy.
The scattered pack of hounds began recovering within seconds, ignoring the burning pain that had disrupted their hunt, in favor of outright aggression.
Although not before Damon gathered enough wits to make use of his [Identify].
[Famished Motley Ridgeback - Level ??]
It was hard to move but at least Damon was on his back, but still dizzy as a fidget spinner and fully sprawled out.
He struggled to lift his neck, and when he finally managed it, Damon found a row of slavering fangs charging in from every direction.
I'm dead.
Roarrr.
The concussive rumble struck them like a wave, causing instinctive recoils and urging a flight response, before the slow mind's of the hounds recalled the goat who was the source.
The momentary stun still served to provide Damon with an opening, as his adrenaline surged and equilibrium returned—for long enough to strike first, and strike fast.
Damon didn't bother to rise, opting to dive forward into a hook instead, striking the nearest off-balance beast—one with an old scar across the eye—cracking its siderow teeth, and not much else. His Beralumin-enhanced fist and superhuman strength had made Damon expect a greater result, but evidently these hunters were tough as nails, despite hunting in packs.
Damon spun, whipping his leg around—just about ignoring his compromised balance with a huge effort—and cracked a heel deep into its ribs, causing a satisfying crunch as the rib cage caved. One down, too many to go.
MOVE.
The pack swarmed. Damon was kicking and punching like never before, yet it was hardly serving to do more than keep his body moving and the debilitating bites away. Without interference, he would have been lost.
The hounds acted with characteristic tunnel vision though, allowing his unlikely friend to come in with the save. The larger creature bowled them over as the billy charged in from behind, allowing Damon a chance to grab onto its mane and jump on. By ill- or good luck, they ended up back to back, as the panting goat resumed racing up the hill.
It was awkward as hell, and the hounds were on them again in seconds, making Damon sway from side to side as he barely hung on. If his new mount launched even a single kick, he'd be launching Damon as well; so Damon was forced to start kicking for them both. He used the pendulum motion to start timing the chomps, sweeping leaping hounds off their feet mid-air, and kicking gaping mouths closed.
Even so they barely made it over the ridge and onto the sand—but that was where his companion suddenly took off in a rush, like they’d just activated a speedboost.
[Welcome to the Black Hills Alluvial]
They raced down the dune and continued on the bottom of the valley, dashing across the valley floor. Damon’s mind was racing just as swiftly as the awkward paw/hoof combination, looking for a way out of their dire situation. Even if we create some distance here on the sands, we won’t make it far with me being carried like this, not against endurance predators… There’s only one real solution, fight them off.
Damon started waving and hollering desperately, pointing towards his cavern, pleading and pledging that their best shot was to be found there. The desperate chimera nearly raced past, but then turned at the last second, seeming to catch his drift, or knowing as well as Damon that outrunning the pack with a passenger was futile.
They dove into the dark cavern, and disappeared where the darkness met the cavern’s roof—earning them a temporary reprieve.
But the hounds could still smell their sweat.