CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

Funguayou filled a ceramic cup with tea, serving one to the dwarf and another atop a saucer to the doctor. Mallow gently blew the heat off his drink, breaking off a chunk of mushroom loaf, dunking it.

“If you’ve yet done this,” began the funguay, “I recommend it immediately.”

The dwarf, having yet accepted a piece of bread at all, hesitated. The doctor sipped and brought his cup back down to home.

“We’ve only the one saucer, you understand,” said Funguayou.

“That will be all,” announced its father. “Now, I wish to hear in detail,” it said with a turn to the crackling fireplace, heat to heat. Its chair creaked. The dwarf’s own pained him, frustrated at the inability to wrap into blankets and drink, which he was beginning to enjoy. While the dwarf straightened his form, the doctor continued: “Tell me how you’ve vanquished the December Frost.”

The dwarf explained the multiple day process behind the dig with careful avoidance of ‘SAVING’. He all too well remembered the funguay which once backed him into a corner of the laboratory nearly salivating at the idea of experimentation; the less to intrigue it the better. Additionally, thought the dwarf, it did not seem Funguayou suggested the idea--could the doctor really restrain itself from discussing the matter? No, the dwarf only gave the barest details of the lead up, his story’s detail in the actions within the cave. He spoke of his utilization of Waspig with pride, the creature seen frolicking through the window. And as he described the dust of the evil’s defeat, the funguay opposite his uncomfortable chair nodded.

“Never have I slain such a fearsome thing. Like now only tales have reached me. What you’ve accomplished pleases Him, no doubt,” said beaming. “You did not suffer mind altering?”

The dwarf shook his head. The doctor chuckled and pat his chest where the rosary hid beneath blue.

“That is why. Keep it.”

The dwarf kicked his legs awkwardly. He felt at home in a foul way.

“The mind altered one--he who you tied in spider excretion. What of him now?” Mallow asked.

When the dwarf had arrived the night of slaying the Frost, Caltraz stared in disbelief.

“You!” he had yelled. “You!” was what he repeated. The dwarf took to his bonds after with the knife and became subject to a sudden, uncomfortable squeezing, explained the dwarf.

“I saw it all,” Caltraz had explained. “I did not come to wake you. I did, but it weren’t me. Didn’t have much control, but what little I did I grit and kept my tongue still. It was all I could do. You believe me? But where is everyone?”

“Indeed,” the doctor chimed. “What did you do with their chieftain? Cash a bounty?” it guessed.

The dwarf shook his head. He explained mounting a larger spider than Mimicule and riding off with Caltraz to the cave the bandits had kept the dwarf captive. But the hideout was deserted.

“Well?” the funguay asked, cup clacking empty...

The following day the dwarf spent on tile, sleeping some and entertaining his animals as well. They were not in want of feed, but that did not mean stores were vast. Even Doctor Mallow’s own supplies dwindled as a result of not only donations to the church but to Funguayou’s flock. The dwarf did step out just once to survey the vegetables, mourning still the loss of the beetroot while optimistic of the surviving crops. Out here he recalled the doctor’s request for seeds. What had that yielded? The dwarf the day previous spotted no tending to any side of the cottage.

The next day the dwarf, with the assistance of iron, dug a trail from the river to his crops to keep the soil moist. He remembered the rainfall heard through limestone; could he be so lucky the rest of swet? The dwarf’s trench began to overflow and smother the crops. Dirt broke off in wet clumps, but he only watched in silence as potato and broccoli drowned. With a whistle Waspig was out from the church flaps and by the dwarf’s side. He mounted his pet and instructed it rise. As the two lifted towards the thick pines above--evergreen railing--the dwarf realized he’d never flown here. In all the time spent in this new world, whether spitting poisoned berries or swallowing frog, he felt surprised at the lack of prior interest. But his tasks were many, the dwarf conceded: how often had he been able to breathe?

The dwarf gazed at the apex of the flight back towards the distant city on the shore. From here he could as well spy a moss strewn roof, and squinted eyes guided him to the steeple in the plains. The great mountain which rose even beyond the pine surely held the trail to the cursed village, and the forest ahead’s seemingly endless expanse seemed small. The dwarf turned then towards the vista never beheld and gaped at the endless sea of ice capped mountains stretching on, sides of sea the only other difference. Those which lacked snow were slightly lower than that which supported pine. And then the jagged crags shot up and above the dwarf’s view, and he could not make out much farther. If he had to guess, the dwarf thought it more than two days before even the first instance of clumped white could be found, making the town smothered in snow all the stranger.

“LOADING... LOADED.”

Making the best adjustments to his miniature ravine, the dwarf successfully irrigated his farm with a smile. He watched for some time to ensure the water flowed smoothly, traveling in and back home without incident. His efforts had gained another level in ‘MINING’ and he felt a humorous annoyance at none in ‘FARMING’. More had been gained in ‘ANIMAL HUSBANDRY’ before and after, his frequent play with all the creatures barring a lone albino unending. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to be at the church.

Naked, the dwarf dove into the river and washed properly at his grime and filth. Digging in a different manner, he cleared his skin of debris and revealed cuts and lashes, wounds and scars. Some dull, others stung. There would be no ‘LOADING’ away from these, the dwarf mused. And that night, clothed in blue, the multiple fights with the December Frost flashed before him. His head, once thrust directly into rock, had been no clean hit--the agony of a split skull remained in memory. The dwarf headed to the kitchen after greeting his flock and prepared a meal for all via jarred vegetables. As he cooked he considered whether traps ought to be makeshifted and deployed. He had no means to smelt iron into claws but wood held wonders, his childhood knew. The doctor’s ax continued to rest within the steeple. Perhaps, considered the dwarf.

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 7”

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 8”

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 9”...

Fed, beard facing the stars through silk, the dwarf lay against tile. His worn arms were thankfully their same shade, gi bundled as pillow. Pocked with scars, the dwarf regret he could not recall where much originated. He was thankful it had been no difficult dilemma to cave in the former lair of the Frost as favor to Caltraz. Now with only one proper entrance and exit secured by key, the bandits abandoned pretense of reacquiring the plains church with smiles. It had struck him wrong to have aided those who were once his captors, but even the chieftain kept silent. By keeping them even further from his home in the mountains, the dwarf considered it good work. But it was tiring. The same, he soon fell asleep.

“You may have one monster of a nose,” Caltraz had said to the dwarf, “But your heart’s gotta be the same. And quite a beard as well,” he added.