While the saltsmith waited for nightfall, they experimented with the remaining tusk. Turning it into powder seemed like a waste, but the saltsmith reasoned that there were other boars in the wild that could be used for their tusks, if need be.

Surely it wasn’t a limited resource, at least not like… well, the saltsmith would have cited gold or precious jewels in this instance, but they remembered the gold-bath the dragon engaged in. Perhaps it was limited by dragon greed, not limited by the ground itself.

They tried to use a sharp bit of a rock to scrape some of the tusk into powder, conceding that their next project needed to be tools for personal use. A rasp would certainly help, perhaps a small axe or a working knife.

For all the saltsmith’s fears and hesitation about being discovered – or simply observed, now that they were known – they continued working on their anvil, shaping tusk-imbued metal into small, square nails.

The ring of the hammer against the anvil was as natural as breathing. It was a sign of their presence as much as footsteps were – inextricably tied to their being, to their nature. Whether they be a spirit or some unnatural soul, they would continue to blacksmith, even if the words for it changed.

By nightfall, the saltsmith was long-finished with their work. They tidied up the area around the cottage more, although they had no idea where the ‘junk’ would go or who would help remove it.

With nothing remaining to neaten, the saltsmith collected the handful of nails, now cool and as ready as they could be.

All of the humans were in their tents, the gentle glow of firelight passing through the thick canvas. Presumably some of them had furnaces or such in their tents, for when the nights became too cold, but the saltsmith imagined that most of their light sources were magical.

Perhaps that was a guess borne out of ignorance, but given how the saltsmith’s own time and place was dominated by the lightbulb, with candles becoming an antiquity or a novelty, they thought it could be reasonable.

If met with the decision of a light source that may catch other things aflame, or a heatless, threat-less light that would only go out when directly snuffed? The magical option seemed to be the most prudent.

The saltsmith bounded to the carpenter’s workstation in the way that only many skeletal limbs could – a fluid rotation of spindly arms impervious to the ground’s roughness.

They slowed when the table neared, catching sight of their request. It was moved, set to the side out of the workspace. Ah, so the carpenter received the message. Hopefully, he would assist the saltsmith, although he had no real motive to do so.

They set the nails down in an orderly fashion, stacked neatly like firewood. The saltsmith had no ability to convey that these nails were… were enchanted. The enchantment itself was complex to describe, consisting of increased resistance to stress by torsion or bending.

They hoped that the carpenter, like the saltsmith, had access to this System and could discover the benefits himself.

While the saltsmith did not possess a delineated to-do list, they did have a short set of desires to fulfill.

One of which, was to scavenge. If the teeth and tusks gave properties to the metal, were the bones of the beast equally valuable?

With a sharp edged rock in hand, the saltsmith approached the carcass. It smelled, they were aware, but the presence of insects did not deter them. While they would prefer not to have ants or flies in their belongings, the saltsmith wasn’t at risk of being bitten. The lack of flesh was beneficial, in that regard.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The toes and the tail seemed reasonable and easy to scavenge. Both were still knitted together with flesh and bristly fur, but it was nothing that the heat wouldn’t take care of. The smell of scorched hair wasn’t as much of a deterrent, with the saltsmith occupying this Jack O’ Lantern body.

They were stuck wrestling with the femur. It was detached from the corpse, having already been cut apart by Samir to remove any decent meat, but it was wedged between vertabrae, shoved into the pile for disposal.

The saltsmith had several skeletal arms wedged into the mass of bones, yanking and ripping at sinew and silverskin to remove this one thing, when there came a rustling from behind.

Their awareness 7 was not enough to alert them to the noise, but the guttural growl and sudden motion on their left sent the saltsmith into a skittering dive, dodging an attack that never came.

They had one hand locked onto the femur as they faced the drake.

The same one that chased them down in the dragon’s lair.

It had the same emerald green scales, dusted with gold, but it was built like a mountain lion, like a panther, like a tiger.

The saltsmith was not made for combat. They were never a soldier and they never intended to be one.

They had two urges, to flee and to freeze. The latter won out.

The drake tossed its head in irritation not unlike a horse. Their horns were forked, branching, like a deer but thicker and shorter.

It approached and with maw opening wide, the drake— the saltsmith braced for impact – chomped on to the boar’s carcass, snagging spine and pelvis in its teeth.

A dozen different emotions ran through the saltsmith’s hollow head, chased by equally frantic thoughts.

Was the drake not after the saltsmith? Did it not want to kill them? Or damage them?

Were they immune to the attention of predators by lacking flesh? Surely a beast would attack any moving target if it was afraid enough? Was the saltsmith simply not scary?

The worried yet rational thoughts filled the saltsmith’s mind, flooding it and sweeping away all coherency that could possibly remain. When they were done, there was only one thought left.

A scraggly, determined thought that withstood the wash of logic and rush of anxiety.

The saltsmith latched onto the femur with multiple hands, using another few to grab the drake’s forked horn, trying to separate the two. This was their bone and they were going to take it.

The drake huffed, its reptilian face betraying no emotion, but the gold-ringed eye flicked over the saltsmith as if to question the decision.

The saltsmith yanked once more, trying to get the femur out of the drake’s teeth.

The beast backed away, actively dragging a portion of the carcass and the saltsmith along. It shook its head like a dog, trying to force the saltsmith to let go, but enough was enough, the saltsmith thought.

They were tired of this world bullying them into submission. They wanted this…. this damn bone.

Their blue cloak flapped helplessly as the saltsmith locked all ten hands onto either the bone or the horn of the drake. They only had strength 7 and their endurance was 10, so something would give.

The saltsmith hoped it was the bone, so they could scuttle off with at least a fragment, but who knew?

In no world did the saltsmith consider attacking the drake. They had two swords, used as legs to walk upright, but they weren’t even considered weapons to fight with in the saltsmith’s eyes.

This was a simple spat over who got what.

The drake jumped around, flailing as the oddly shaped saltsmith was locked onto its face. It didn’t snap either, curiously; it merely tried to shake off the strange being and resume what was presumably dinner.

Eventually, the saltsmith’s attributes could no longer best the drake’s. They were thrown off into a bush, after which they heard a mighty huff from the beast, followed by the cracking of bones.

While the drake was preoccupied, the saltsmith scrambled upright, darting back to the carcass and grabbing the tail and feet they set aside. Now that they were detached from the drake, their sensibility returned. This was not a fight worth having.

The saltsmith ran back toward their cottage, halting mid sprint to veer away. Leading the drake back to home seemed like a terrible idea. The saltsmith found a suitably tall tree and climbed up high, hoping the beast wouldn’t follow them.

Was it worth a few bones? No.

But it was an interesting experience.

The saltsmith couldn’t shake the sharp gaze of the drake from their mind, feeling like it was curiously familiar.