Chương 18: The Domestication Dilemma

The next day, everything changed. Andy was at the stream drinking, his horn casting it's golden-green reflections on the water's surface when his nose (and [ACTIVE AWARENESS]) picked up the scent. Leather, forest-soap, the warm undertone of human skin. His entire body tensed, ears snapping forward. He raised his head as water dripped from his muzzle. His ears rotated eastward and tuned in.

His fox, who had been fishing with a technique that involved standing very still and then biting the water with a speed that Andy found deeply unfair. He had three-toed hooves; the fox's fluffy little toe beans (Which Andy was expressly forbidden from calling them) were a constant source of envy. She raised her own head and sent an impression, We should go. She's back.

"I think we'll be just fine, she's not dangerous." Andy replied.

"Harumph. Fine."

"Don't""Don't what?" Don't enjoy my embarrassment. Too late. The ranger emerged from the treeline (Her name was Ranger in his head story, because "beautiful freckled woman who makes my brain stop working" was too many syllables and when Teeth heard him, she'd start gagging.) at a different point than she had prior. She was serious, patient, and Andy was almost sure, not going to give up.

She'd added a small pouch on her belt that his nose identified as containing something with a high sugar content and a faint herbal note. His nose, which was very interested (although not so much as his mouth) in something with a high sugar content, classified the pouch's contents as: treats. She had brought him treats.

"She brought me treats," Andy thought and then imagined himself, pre-truck, and what it would be like to be offered a milkbone.

"She's going to offer me a sugar cube like a pony at a petting zoo. I'm going to have to decide whether the indignity of accepting food from a woman's palm is outweighed by the fact that it smells amazing and my taste buds are very enthusiastic about sugar." Ranger did not approach immediately. She entered the clearing by the stream (which was a different clearing than the other clearings he'd mentioned before. This was a new clearing.) and took a seat on a mossy boulder. She proceeded to make herself comfortable.

She opened her canteen, took a deep swig of water and then she took the book out of her satchel, opened it, and then began to read. She was not approaching him. She was simply sitting nearby and made no attempt to close the distance. Andy recognized the strategy: Don't chase, be present, be patient, let them come to you.

"Oh she's good," he sent. He was about thirty body lengths away with his horn glowing and his nose full of the scent of treats.

"I could bite her."

"Teeeeeeeeth!"" What. Did I wrongly assume that you don't want to become a pet?"

"No, I don't want to be a pet." Teeth sat unblinking at Andy and sent over the feeling of deep disappointment. Andy watched her from the treeline instead of approaching. His horn glowed and his nose was full of the scent of treats. Teeth continued to sit there, blankly staring at him while Andy fixated and did nothing. Ranger read her book for two hours, then packed up her book, and left. She left something behind. A small bundle wrapped in cloth, which was placed on the boulder with deliberate intent.

Andy waited until her scent faded before he walked to the boulder and sniffed it. A root vegetable. Purple skinned, dense, smelling of earth, starch, and sweetness. It was only food. Which she'd left behind on a rock. On purpose. An opening move in a conversation in the only language Ranger thought Andy understood: resource provision. Andy ate it. It was the best thing he'd tasted in this body.

He was sure there were things that tasted better pre-truck, but at this moment Andy couldn't quite remember any specific things that he'd favored eating in his past life. [XP: +9 (RESOURCE ACQUISITION: NOVEL FOOD SOURCE)] XP for eating. For eating the treat that the beautiful Ranger left on a rock. Specifically for him. The System was, in its inscrutable way, incentivising this relationship.

Andy was going to have very stern thoughts about the System's matchmaking algorithms at some point when he was less busy thinking about how good the root vegetables had been. She came back every day. Every day for a week (give or take. Time is hard to keep track of when you're a -not-quite-horsiecorn), Ranger sat on the boulder, read her book and did not approach Andy. Every day she left a bundle: root vegetables, fruits with a tartness that made his lips pull back in a Mr.

Ed grimace that meant something a little closer to, 'help.' After several days, she began to speak while she read. Andy wasn't sure to whom she was reading too loudly (herself, Andy, Teeth.) He'd hoped it was himself. The rhythmic flow of hard and soft sounds told Andy this was a language. This wasn't a language Andy had come across, he was relatively certain it was a completely different language than any he'd heard before. The pure un-natural cadence of it was enough to cause Andy to nerd out a bit.

Andy's consciousness, starved for human connection, latched on with a hunger bordering on starvation. The rhythm of human speech, the rises and falls, the pauses for breath made Andy's heart (his horn) sing. The increase in volume from the horn made Ranger stop. She pulled out a second notebook and began scribbling like mad.

She looked up incrementally her eyes scrubbing over Andy and every time she did the horn would chirp, whistle and make an interesting fluttering noise causing her to scribble more in the notebook. The next day Ranger returned again. This time she had a different book laid out beside her normal book and notebook. She studied Andy and continued to flip pages. The pages contained text and illustrations. She held the book up toward the treeline. There, Andy saw detailed illustrations of animals and magical creatures.

She was showing him pictures of things with hooves or things with horns. None of the illustrations looked like Andy.

"She's showing me pictures of horses," Andy thought. His dignity was in critical condition.

"She's treating me like a toddler.

'Look sweetie, this is what horsies look like. Can you say horsie? What are you? You don't look like a horsie." From her observation post nearby the fox sent, I'd be mad if this wasn't so funny. Andy ignored Teeth. He inched closer. Close enough that she began to see him clearly. She looked up and her expression softened a fraction. Days of patience and it was working. She returned to her notebook, writing down what Andy assumed were her observations.

She was restraining herself from reacting to Andy's movement toward her. She sat very still looking up only occasionally before carefully noting something in her book. She then tucked all of her books into her satchel and left for the evening.

"If you know what she's doing, why are you falling for it?" Teeth asked now that they'd finally begun their daily rituals.

"I'm not falling for anything," Andy replied with indignance.

"I am curious about the books."

"Why would you care about humans and their books?"

"It's been awhile since I've seen a book."" Well, if that's all it is, why not check it out tomorrow?"

"Fine. I will." Two days later the Ranger returned. She set herself up on the boulder and began reading aloud again. He walked slowly, horn glowing and playing a tune in time with Andy's heart beat. It was the sound of anxiety. He took wearing your heart on your sleeve to a whole new level, broadcasting his heart, instead, with his forehead. Ranger did not move. It was questionable whether or not she was even breathing. She sat on the boulder and allowed him to come to her. The treat pouch remained untouched.

The note taking pencil remained where she'd lain it. The respect in that kept Andy's legs moving forward even when his prey-animal instinct was telling him to go the other direction. He stopped about 10 body lengths away from the boulder. Here he was close enough to see individual freckles. (Twelve of them, no thirteen. One was hiding behind a strand of dark escaped hair) He was close enough to smell her without the wind's help. She spoke softly and calmly.

He still didn't know what she was saying but the fact that it was directed at him was enough. The anxiety began to fall away, the horn's song went back to its low level humming. Ranger reached into the treat pouch and her fingers extracted a fist sized, reddish fruit. She placed it on her open palm and held it out in his direction. To Andy it was an invitation not an obligation. Here, you can have this if you want it. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Andy's animal brain said, "Apples. Want." Andy's gamer brain said, "She's been at this for quite awhile this respect the commitment." Andy's human brain said, "If you eat out of her hand she will never think of you as anything other than an animal. You are the beast and she is the beastmaster. She's taming you." His want of the apple won over. He stepped forward and ate the Apple, stem-first, straight from her palm. Her skin was warm and soft against his muzzle.

It vanished in less than two seconds and then he backed away again. But those two seconds were worth it. The warmth, the contact of a human hand touching his face settled into his memory with a permanence he was sure he would never forget. She let out a soft sound of delight. Her other hand reached out wanting to stop him from backing away but being professional and disciplined enough not to. Her eyes were trained on his horn and the now empty palm was still held out toward him. She wanted to touch his horn.

A woman wanted to touch his horn. She was showing visible restraint over his horn. Andy was ecstatic over this and was doing his best not to show it. Although, that wasn't saying much considering the horn was now glowing brightly and flowers began to bloom at Andy's feet. [ABILITY ENHANCED: LIFE MAGIC: GROWTH ENHANCEMENT (MINOR) -> GROWTH ENHANCEMENT (IMPROVED)] She gasped and began to pull back. But before she could he lowered his head and presented himself to her. Look, I know what you're interested in.

I know it. The fox knows it. Here, I will show it to you." Her hand rose, slowly. The shaking of her hands had mostly been stilled. A calm and quiet voice continued to whisper at him. Her fingers paused in the space above his horn, hovering, asking permission. Andy pressed his horn upward into her waiting palm. Life magic surged at her touch. A jolt ran from the horns tip down through his skull and into his spine. The warmth spread into his chest and his stomach was doing flipflops.

Light seeped between her fingers, brighter than it had ever been, and her whole face changed. Something opened behind her eyes. Magic, she was touching magic for the first time in her life and the feeling was incredible. She exhaled a shaky breath. Her fingers danced lightly along the horn. Tracing its stubby length from base to tip. The sensation lit up every part of Andy's brain connected to dopamine receptors.

"A woman is stroking my horn and it feels incredible. I need to stop thinking about it in those terms immediately." From the treeline, the fox sent her impression, " This is deeply embarrassing and I will mock you for this for all of eternity." The Ranger's other hand came up. Both hands framing his face. She was looking into his eyes with a focused and searching attention. Was this it? Can she tell that there is intelligence behind these eyes? Certainly, she can see it. Right?

A person was touching his face and looking into his eyes and seeing him. Actually seeing him as a someone. Being seen was so good, so exactly what he'd been starving for since he'd died and woken up as a cell. He stood perfectly still and let the moment be what it was. She pulled back after a minute. Her absence registered as a physical sensation. Coolness now overtook where the warmth had been. His [HORN LIGHT] dimmed as well. It was as if it, too, missed her. His horn was having feelings about the separation.

Clingy horn. Like owner, like horn. She looked at him with an expression he would remember for the rest of this life: serious and wondering. She knew something had changed. He could see it in her face. She placed three more fruits on the boulder. Looked at him once more. And walked away. Andy stood in the clearing, his horn warm where her fingers had been, his entire body humming with the residual vibration of human contact. The first human touch of his second life.

A woman had stroked his horn and he had liked it and there was no way to describe the experience that didn't sound exactly like what it sounded like.

"She saw me," he thought.

"She touched my horn and it felt like being found and I am ABSOLUTELY going to have to process this later but right now I am going to stand here and feel found and the processing can wait." Teeth walked out of the treeline and sent an impression that told a story without words: a fox watching a small-horse-adjacent creature fall in love with a woman in real time. The tone that went along with it was amused, affectionate, and the slightly exasperated tone of someone who is going to have to live with this.

"I'm not falling in love," Andy replied.

"Yes you are."

"I'm a HORSE."

"Are you?"

"Almost."

"An almost horse falling in love with a human." Andy ate the three fruits (tart, sweet, extraordinary, better than anything because they had been left by a person who had touched his horn and seen him) and walked back into the forest with the fox at his side. She came back the next day, the day after, and the day after that. The routine solidified. Ranger arrived in the late morning.

Andy approached closer each day, the distance compressing to five body lengths, then one, then the zero-distance of standing beside her while she read, her hand reaching up occasionally to touch his horn or scratch the spot behind his left ear that she had discovered had the side effect of turning his brain off. Ear-scratching was a problem.

The spot was an equine erogenous zone, a concentration of nerve endings that responded to sustained pressure by releasing a flood of neurochemical rewards his equine brain interpreted as "bliss" and his human brain interpreted as "this is what it feels like to have your brain replaced by warm pudding."

When she scratched it, his eyelids dropped to half-mast, his head tilted into her hand with involuntary force, and his rear left leg twitched in the rhythmic, useless cycling motion of a dog being scratched in exactly the right spot.

"I'm a person," Andy thought, his eyelids drooping and his leg doing the thing.

"I have a Bachelor's. I have opinions on fiscal policy. I am not a beast that is reduced to putty by a woman touching me in just the right spot. Except I am because she's doing it and I am a puddle and my leg won't stop doing the thing. This is somehow worse than when she stroked the horn I maintained some dignity." Teeth's psychic commentary during ear-scratching session was a masterclass in sustained, devastating mockery.

She was storing every ear scratch, every leg-twitch and every eyelid droop for future mockery.

"You're doing a great job maintaining your argument that you are not a 'beast'." Andy chose not to respond to her sarcasm. Because, ear-scratching sessions were when communication developed. She talked while she scratched. This was her casual voice. The thinking-out-loud voice people use when they know no one in the vicinity can hear them. She had different cadences that Andy imagined meant different things. A resign and falling of tone along with hurried words to Andy meant ' I'm complaining about my job."

a slow and warm cadence Andy imagined was her talking about the forest. A quizzical and often stuttered cadence to Andy meant that she was trying to figure him out. A person working through a puzzle out loud, and that puzzle was him. Andy found being a puzzle to be a surreal and wonderful experience. She was talking about him, scratching behind his ear, feeding him treats. He was both the subject and audience of her analysis. After several days of note taking and rough sketches in her notebook she set up a puzzle.

Three stones of different sizes: large, medium and small. She pointed to them, then to three corresponding spot on the ground she'd marked with a stick. A small circle, a medium circle and a large circle. A cognition test. She was testing him. Andy weighed it: if he passed and confirmed her suspicions not only would his horn be unprecedented, not only would his species be unique, but his brain too would bring questions.

On the other hand, failing to do so would preserve his cover but sacrifice any possibility of connection. He would become just a strange beast in the forest. Do it. Teeth sent from the shadows. You want to be seen. Be seen. Andy walked to the boulder and picked up the large stone with his lips (prehensile, dexterous, the closest thing he had to fingers), carried it to the large circle and set it down. He picked up the medium stone and placed it on the medium circle.

He picked up the small stone and placed it on the small circle. Then, because the puzzle was solved and he was Andy Snodgrass and he had opinions about being tested, he picked up all three stones, one at a time, and reversed them: small to the left, medium to the center, large to the right. A different configuration than the one she had indicated. Not wrong, but different. Chosen. Deliberate. He looked at her and her professional composure was cracking.

Through the cracks, visible in the widening of her eyes and the parting of her lips, was a person who had just had a fundamental assumption overturned in real time. He was not a beast. She could see it in the deliberateness, in the reversal that served no purpose except to demonstrate choice, in the way he looked at her after with eyes that were not checking for a treat but making a point. She said a word.

A single word, spoken softly, with the careful enunciation of a person who is saying something important and wants to make sure they get it right. Andy did not understand the word. But the tone was unmistakable. It was a question. Andy thought it might mean,"What are you?" Andy held her gaze almost defiantly. The horn an even steady glow between them. The fox in the treeline held her breath (Andy felt her through the bond, tense, anxious and skeptical) He tried to answer.

His [THOUGHT PROJECTION] was not working on her.

"I am Andy Snodgrass. I used to be a vet tech. I died crossing the street. I picked a calcium spike when I was a bacterium, and I've been horny ever since. And I am standing in front of you now, unable to say any of that." There was no indication that Ranger heard or understood a minute part of what was said. She stared at him for a long time making notes in her notebook. But behind him, in the shadows where he couldn't see a fox averted her gaze. Then she did something Andy did not expect: she bowed her head.

A small nod. An acknowledgment that Andy pretended meant: I don't understand what you are. But I see that you are something. And I will treat you accordingly. She did not run more tests. She sat on the boulder and began to talk in a third voice, a new voice, the voice of a person speaking to someone they believe can understand them. The belief changed everything about the way the words sounded even though Andy still could not understand one. Her tone allowed Andy to paint his own picture.

Perhaps she was talking about her day. Her morning routine. When she laughed he imagined she'd been clumsy and was lightheartedly teasing herself. When her voice quivered and filled with sadness he imagined that she was telling him of a time she'd been alone and lost her companion.

"She's telling me about her life," Andy thought, his horn glowing, her hand on his neck, the fox asleep in the treeline.

"I'm not-quite-a-horse and a woman is telling me about her morning, and something that made her sad. This is somehow the best relationship I've ever had. She strokes my horn and talks to me and brings me snacks. This is literally everything I wanted from a relationship as a human except she thinks I'm a an animal and the horn stroking is less metaphorical than I'd prefer. Still. Best relationship. Both lives."

And Andy Snodgrass, proto-ungulate, horn-bearing, formerly single-celled organism, stood beside a woman who was beginning to see him, and felt, for the first time since crossing a street in a different world, like someone was home. [PARTY MEMBERS: 2] [HERD BOND: COMPANION (VULPINE ADEPT)] [SOCIAL BOND: DEVELOPING (HUMANOID, RANGER-TYPE)] [XP: 1067/3000] [GALLOP EFFICIENCY: 79%]