A Snuffleboar and a Spinning Compass

The next morning, Bob's stomach rumbled. It was a familiar sound. He looked in their supply bag. It was empty.

Traveller looked at the clear, calm lake. "The fish in this lake are fat and slow. We eat well tonight."

They took a long, flexible branch from a tree. From a pouch, they produced a thin, strong line and a sharp, curved hook made of bone. In a few moments, they had made a fishing rod.

Next was the bait. Traveller dug near the water's edge and pulled up a fat, wiggling worm.

Bob's eyes lit up. "Wiggle... snake!"

He reached for it, wanting to play with the new creature.

"No, Bob," Traveller said, a smile in their voice. "This is for the fish." They put the worm on the hook and handed the rod to Bob. "Hold this. When you feel a tug, pull."

Bob held the rod with great seriousness. He stared at the spot where the line entered the water. He stared for ten whole seconds. Nothing happened.

He sighed loudly. This was boring. He jiggled the rod. He tapped his foot. He looked at the sky.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound from the trees behind them.

CRACK! SNAP!

Something big was coming. Fast.

A creature burst out of the woods. It looked like a pig, but it was covered in thick, shaggy brown fur and had two pairs of small, curved tusks. It was snorting and panting, its eyes wild. It ran straight for the lake, clearly desperate for a drink.

It skidded to a halt at the water's edge, about to plunge its snout in. Then, it saw them.

Traveller was sitting on a rock, perfectly still. Bob was standing there, holding a fishing rod, his head tilted. They were both just staring at it.

The shaggy pig-creature froze. It looked at Bob. It looked at Traveller. It seemed very confused. It had run from a predator in the woods, only to find two very strange, quiet things by the water. It let out a small, uncertain oink.

Traveller's hand moved, a blur of motion. Something small and dark shot through the air. It hit the creature in the neck with a soft thwip. The creature's eyes went wide for a second, then it simply fell over onto its side.

Bob blinked. "Pig... sleepy?"

"Yes," Traveller said, standing up. "And also, dinner."

Just as Traveller said that, Bob's fishing rod was nearly pulled from his hands. It bent almost in half, the line tight.

"Bob! Help!" he shouted, struggling to hold on.

Traveller was by his side in an instant, their hands closing over his on the rod. "Pull!"

Together, they heaved. It was heavy. Heavier than any fish. They dug their feet into the dirt and pulled with all their might.

Slowly, something emerged from the water. It was not a fat, slow fish.

It was a small wooden box, dark with age and covered in green moss. Strange, swirling patterns were carved into its lid.

They dragged it onto the shore. Bob poked it with his finger. It was real.

The box had no lock, but it was sealed shut. Bob tried to open it with his hands. He tried to pry it with his stick-sword. Nothing worked.

Traveller examined the carvings, tracing them with a finger. They found a small, hidden symbol and pressed it. There was a soft click, and the lid popped open.

Bob leaned in, excited. Food? Treasure?

Inside, there was no food. No treasure. Just a single object, resting on a bed of faded velvet.

It was a silver compass. But its needle was not pointing north. It was spinning, slowly and steadily, as if searching for something it could not find.

Bob looked at the compass, then at the box, then at Traveller. He pointed at the box.

"No... food," he said, his voice full of disappointment.

Traveller picked up the compass. They held it in their palm, watching the needle spin. A strange, thoughtful look was on their face, hidden in the shadow of their hood.

"No, Bob," they said, their voice quiet and full of a new kind of wonder. "Not food. A new direction. Maybe."