(Eli's POV)
I didn't want to go into the woods. But need has a way of sharpening your courage—or dulling your common sense.
I took the short sword, the hatchet, and a length of rope. Wisp followed, tail high, ears alert. Alina tried to hide her worry but didn't argue.
"Be back before dusk," she said. "And don't die."
"I'll bring you something for stew."
She nodded. But her eyes lingered too long on mine before I turned away.
The forest beyond the farm wasn't deep, but it was wild—tangled roots, uneven terrain, shadows that moved when they shouldn't. I followed the old creekbed east for half a mile before setting up my first snare.
Nothing.
Two hours later, I'd set four more. One had been triggered—emptied of bait. Whatever took it was smarter than a fox.
Wisp blinked ahead and barked once. Then again. Then went silent.
I ran.
The first sign of the fight was the blood. Spattered across a log, smeared along a stone. Too much for a small animal. Too dark.
I followed it.
That's when I saw them—two beastmen. One dead, throat ripped out. The other dying slowly, groaning with a chunk of wood embedded in its gut.
And beside them, a creature I hadn't seen before. Long limbs. Thin body. Coated in ash-gray fur. Almost like a monkey, but with too many joints. It cradled a broken forearm, hunched beside a bush.
It looked at me with pale, milky eyes.
Wisp stood between us, unmoving.
The beastman gasped. I stepped forward and ended it. One clean stab.
The monkey-thing didn't move.
I approached slow. No sudden moves. Wisp stayed close but let me take the lead.
The creature didn't hiss. Didn't growl. It just whimpered, like it didn't know what else to do.
I slipped the rope from my pack, fashioned a sling for its arm. The creature flinched, but didn't resist. I picked it up. Light. Fragile. It clung to my jacket like a child.
We left the bodies behind.
It took an hour to get back. Alina met us at the fence with a blade in hand—until she saw what I was carrying.
Another one.
She helped me settle the creature in a basket lined with spare cloth. We cleaned its arm, dressed the wound, and left it some milk.
Then I collapsed. Barely made it to the bed.
Day 12 - Journal Entry
Species: Unknown (arboreal, possibly extraplanar) Size: 2 ft tall, long limbs, pale fur Condition: Broken forearm, bruising, dehydration Disposition: Non-aggressive. Appears semi-intelligent. Did not resist handling.
Behavioral Notes: No vocalization. Clings to objects/people for comfort. Slept beside Wisp.
Wisp appears protective.
Housing: Cloth-lined crate in barn. May need to elevate or suspend for climbing needs.
Name: Pending.
Remaining traps: 3
Hunted meat: None. Returned empty-handed.
Food stores low.
I slept like I'd been clubbed. Woke up to find Wisp curled around both new creatures.
Terror bleated. Rook let out a low moan and rolled onto his back.
I lay there for a long while, staring at the ceiling.
There was no way to keep doing this alone.
And I knew what that meant.
It was time to hire help—or dig my own grave.
I waited until the sun was high before heading out again. Not into the forest—into town. Or at least, what passed for a town around here.
Brahn had mentioned a cluster of farms and travelers a few hours east. Called it a "market village," though he said it with a smirk, like he wasn't convinced it deserved the name. Still, if they traded, if they hired hands, that's where I had to start.
I left Alina in charge. She didn't argue. I think she wanted the farm to herself for a bit. Wisp almost followed me but stayed behind after Rook let out a sleepy, guttural coo.
"Be back before night," Alina said again, arms crossed.
"Hopefully with someone who knows how to build a damn barn."
The walk took longer than I'd hoped—nearly five miles, skirting a ravine and picking through the edges of the forest. I passed an old stone mile marker covered in moss and found the trail Brahn described.
When I reached the village, it wasn't much to look at—but it was busier than I expected. Harrow's Rest. The crooked sign confirmed it. Ten or so squat buildings surrounded a central square of churned-up mud. A smithy belched black smoke on the northern edge. A tavern squatted opposite it. There were two general trading posts, a stable, and a series of small stalls set up like an open-air market.
Merchants barked in accented Reikspiel, their voices understandable to me as if they were speaking plain English. But when I glanced at the signs above their doors or the notes pinned to walls, the words twisted and blurred—unreadable, like some inkless script.
I walked through the square slowly, taking it in. Smells of spiced meat, burning coal, manure, and oil mixed in the air. Locals haggled over sacks of flour, bolts of cloth, and iron nails. A dwarf sold horseshoes while a young woman weighed eggs beside a basket of blue-feathered hens.
One stand caught my eye—tools and nails. The merchant behind it, a wiry old man with burn-scarred hands, nodded as I picked through a pile of iron nails and hinges.
"Looking for work?" he asked, squinting up at me.
"Looking for workers," I said. "Got a ranch west of here. Need hands."
"Try the tavern. And if you need nails, don't take more than you can pay for."
"I've got coin."
He shrugged and went back to sorting.
The tavern was dim and smelled like wet wool and burned wood. A few rough-looking types nursed drinks at scattered tables. A dwarf played dice in the back. The barkeep wiped down mugs with a cloth that had seen better years.
I walked up to the bar, waited until he looked my way. "Cold out."
"Aye," he said. "Beer?"
"Later. Got a question first."
He raised an eyebrow but nodded for me to go on.
"I've got land outside the forest. Need help—fencing, hauling, maybe some muscle. You know anyone?"
He considered. "Depends what you're paying."
"Food, board, and fair coin."
He grunted. "There's always someone drinking through their last job. Check with Rurik. Dwarf, back table. Caravan got hit last month."
I nodded and turned to approach the table.
Rurik looked up as I came over. His beard was braided, his eyes sharp and bloodshot. He rolled the dice and grunted.
"You're not from here."
"Nope."
"What's your trade?"
"Running a ranch. Sort of."
He leaned back, arms crossed. "Sort of?"
"I've got livestock. Just... not normal livestock."
His brow rose. "You feeding a chimera or something?"
"Not yet. But the way things are going, I wouldn't rule it out."
That got a laugh out of him. "What's the pay?"
"Room, meals, and coin—one silver per week if the work holds up. More if you swing a hammer better than you drink."
"I can build. Used to do smithing. If you don't mind blunt talk and louder hammering, I'll give it a go."
"You'll need to leave now."
He downed his drink. "Not the worst idea I've had."
We left just before dusk. I gave him half a silver up front. Enough to keep him walking.
The return trip was quieter than the journey in. The wind had picked up, carrying the chill of early frost. Rurik didn't talk much, and I appreciated that. We made steady time along the road, cutting west as the sky deepened to purple.
By the time the trees thinned and the edges of the ranch came into view, the sun had all but vanished behind the hills. Smoke curled from the chimney. Lantern light flickered in the windows.
"Looks cozy," Rurik muttered.
"Wait until you meet the livestock."
Alina stood outside, Wisp at her feet, arms folded. The goat bleated and knocked over a bucket.
"Brought you something," I said.
She raised a brow. "Friend or problem?"
"Hopefully both."
Rurik looked around, spotted the creatures, and let out a low whistle. "You weren't lying."
"Nope."
He dropped his pack. "Then we've got work to do."
Day 13 - Journal Entry
New hire: Rurik, dwarf, former caravan guard Skillset: Woodwork, minor smithing, combat experience
Supplied: 1 silver shilling (advance), board and food provided
Tasks begun:
Pen reinforcement layout planning Suggested small forge construction near barn
Creature update:
Owlbear (Rook) continues to improve. Reptilian juvenile eating small fish—dig a new pond for habitat. Simian creature climbing rafters, increasingly mobile
Food stores: Low. Next priority: Hunting run, secure meat
That night, the barn echoed with hammering.
We were still alive. Still building.
But the land around us wasn't quiet.