(Eli's POV)
The next morning, Rurik was already at work before I opened my eyes. The sound of a hammer echoed from behind the barn, steady and focused. Alina was tending to the garden patch, though she glanced toward the treeline more than usual. Wisp padded back and forth between her and the pen like a tiny, barking sentry.
I took inventory of our remaining supplies—barely enough to stretch the week.
"Need meat," I muttered.
"And steel," Rurik called, wiping his brow as I walked out to check on the framework he was erecting.
He pointed at a broken iron rake I'd left by the toolshed. "You got scrap, I can make nails. Hinges, too. But I'll need coal. Or hardwood."
"I'll see what I can trade for next time I head east."
"Better hurry. Snow's coming early this year."
I didn't mention the tracks I found behind the barn. Hoofprints that didn't belong to any beast of burden. Deep. Spread wide.
Beastmen.
They were watching again. Maybe scouting. Maybe testing. I had three dead bodies buried not far from that spot—shallow graves, because the earth was hard and I was tired.
I'd looted what I could from them before the burial: bone charms, crude rings, scrap-iron coins engraved with grotesque symbols. I didn't wear the charms. Even with my limited experience, I knew enough not to put anything crafted by creatures of Chaos around my neck. Those trinkets had a feel—greasy, cold, wrong.
Still, they were physical. They had weight. And sometimes, weight was as good as value.
Midday brought a surprise.
Wisp started barking—high, sharp, and constant. I stepped out, sword in hand, expecting another strange creature.
Instead, a cart was coming down the old trail.
The driver was bundled in a cloak, face hidden, but the mule pulling the cart looked well-fed. Behind the wagon were three other figures—two with spears, one carrying a ledger.
Merchants.
I sheathed my blade and walked out to meet them, motioning for Rurik to keep back.
The cloaked figure pulled back her hood—an older woman, dark-skinned, with sharp eyes and a crooked scar under one cheek.
"You Thorn?" she asked.
"I am."
"Brahn said you might be worth the risk. Trade?"
I nodded. "Let's talk."
She stepped off the cart and gestured to the crates. Her guards kept their distance, eyes tracking every movement.
"We've got dried grain, smoked meats, small tools, ironwork, oil, parchment, beeswax, and pitch. Some seeds, too, if you've got the soil."
"I've got coin and salvage," I said, showing her the wrapped cloth bundle. Inside: beastman rings, five bent coins, a steel spike, and a smooth stone etched with a rune.
She didn't touch the rune-marked stone. "Not that one."
"Didn't plan to sell it." I tucked it away. "Too ugly to trade."
She smirked. "Smart."
After close inspection, she picked out the coins and a ring. "Ghast-iron. Brass-cored. We can smelt that. I'll give you half weight in trade."
I hesitated. "Throw in a skinning knife and it's a deal."
She countered. "Skinning knife with a cracked hilt. And a bar of tallow."
I looked her dead in the eyes. "And two nails of iron."
"You haggle like a dwarf," she said.
"Learned fast."
She agreed with a sharp nod, and we shook hands.
An hour later, I had two sacks of dried grain, the tallow, four iron nails, the knife, a pair of wool gloves, and a small spool of waxed thread. They took the beastman trinkets, half the coin I'd found, and a scrap brass buckle.
Before leaving, she handed me a thin iron triangle on a leather string.
"Hang this by your gate. Means you've traded. Safer that way."
The cart creaked away, vanishing down the trail.
That night, I lit the lantern early and sat in the barn beside the creatures. Wisp curled next to the reptilian, who hissed but didn't bite. Rook pressed against the pen walls like he wanted out.
The monkey-like one—still unnamed—perched on a beam above, watching.
I'd been thinking. Trying to puzzle out what I was dealing with.
Rook looked like an owlbear, sure, but smaller. Maybe a subspecies? Mutation?
The reptile didn't match anything from Warhammer or D&D that I could place. Its eyes were wrong—too big. The tail had a flare near the end, like a fan.
The monkey-thing didn't move like anything I'd read about. Its joints bent backward in strange ways. It hadn't spoken. But it had started mimicking our actions. Not fully. Just... gestures. Tilting its head when I spoke. Picking up small objects and setting them down.
They weren't just beasts. Not all of them.
I spent the rest of the night training Wisp.
"Sit," I said. He blinked behind me.
"Wisp. Sit."
He barked. Then teleported in place and landed on his butt.
"That's... good enough."
I tossed a bit of salted rabbit jerky. He caught it mid-air and wagged his tail furiously.
"Shake."
He looked at me, then at his paw.
Then blinked, reappearing with his paw on my knee.
Close enough.
"Stay."
He blinked to the rafter.
"Not quite."
Alina laughed from the stall where she was folding cloth. "You're teaching a ghost dog tricks."
"Better than being outsmarted by him every day."
"He likes you."
"I know."
That part scared me more than I wanted to admit.....
I made a new habit of cataloging their behavior.
Creature Notes – Journal Entry
Rook (owlbear):
Active in the early morning and dusk. Responds to food-based commands (meat only). Barks once before lying down—possible signal of comfort. Shows no interest in harming Wisp or smaller creatures
Reptilian juvenile:
No vocalizations yet. Sleeps submerged in shallow water. Diet: fish, jerky, insects (won't eat grain). Tail fans when startled or watching light
Simian-type:
Most intelligent? Mimics actions. Not verbal, but expressive. Carries small objects around—seems to organize them. Follows Alina often, hides behind her when startled
Wisp:
Responds to: "Sit," "Shake," and sometimes "Stay," Blinks when excited or anxious Protective of other creatures. May have some sense of danger; growled before the merchant's arrival
The next morning, I worked with Wisp again. This time I used bits of dried pork to reward him.
He was fast.
Too fast.
He'd blink behind me before I could even give the next command, tail wagging like he was cheating at a game only he understood.
"Stay."
Blink.
"Stay."
Blink. On top of the fence.
"You're going to make me lose my mind," I muttered.
Alina came around the corner with a smirk. "You talking to your dog or yourself?"
"Both."
She set down a basket of herbs. "The monkey took my belt knife again."
"Again?"
"He's hiding it in the rafters. I watched him climb up there with it in his mouth."
I sighed. "He needs a name."
"Trouble."
I snorted. "Fitting."
But I wrote it down.
Simian-type creature: Temp name – Trouble
Late in the day, I heard something howl in the forest.
Not close. But not far either.
A low, rising cry. It echoed like it came from a deep chest—longer than a wolf. Angrier. The creatures all stirred when it happened.
Wisp stood. Rook let out a groan. Trouble leapt into the rafters and didn't come down for an hour.
That night, I slept beside the barn door.
Sword at my side.
Lantern burning low.