Chương 12: Campsite Crafting

Looking back over my life, I have found that it is generally a good idea to well-arm yourself before heading out on an adventure. —The Artificer's Guide to the Apocalypse It wasn't until we had left the city that I realized how badly it had infiltrated and sabotaged our spirits with its foul touch. A weight lifted from our shoulders, like we had been submerged in a pool of growing despair, and we had just come up for air.

Silence quickly gave way to animated chatter as relief blossomed like the colorful wildflowers beside the heavily trod dirt road. It felt like our future was bright as the cloudless sky above us, and the dangers ahead fell to the back of my mind. Great old trees dotted the sides of the road, casting an occasional mottled shadow across our way that shifted in the cool breeze coming down from the mountains. Ahead of us, the snow-peaked range jutted out as far as I could see to either side.

If there was any sign of the valley, it wasn't apparent to me. A loud yip from behind brought my attention from the scenery, and I was met with an excited Nibbles begging for attention. I scooped him up and nearly fell off balance. He was definitely getting bigger. He felt like he weighed twice as much as he did only three weeks ago. I roufled his face vigorously, and he nipped back playfully.

"What are you feeding this guy?" I asked Gene, only half jokingly.

"I thought he was full grown already; he seems a bit big for a Maltese..."

"Whadya mean? He's always been that size." He refused to meet my gaze.

"And speakin' of feeding, I think it's time for a treat for—" Before he could finish his sentence, Nibbles launched himself off of my chest, knocking the breath out of me.

"Oof! What the shit, Gene!?" He pointedly ignored my suffering whilst feeding a strip of meat to his dog. Tabitha grinned sheepishly, failing to hide her amusement.

"You must've just gotten a bit soft, Logan. He looks like the same adorable little guy as ever, yes he is!" She cooed at Nibbles, then broke into a laugh, in her poor attempt to feign ignorance.

"Pretty sure the poor guy lost weight with all that slop we've been eating lately." Darby nodded sagely, joining his compatriots in their attempt to gaslight me.

"I see how it is. You know what? I'll be the bigger man here, and since Nibbles is so starved, I'm gonna get Gene that bow, so he can provide for him before he dries up and blows away. And once he's full, maybe he can share with the rest of us, because I'm sick of fish." I tuned out their collusion and inspected the trees. The large canopies that shaded the road reminded me of mature oaks, but the leaves were shaped like a poplar's spade. It had a similar rough bark that worked its way vertically.

Out of curiosity, I tried casting [Inspect]. I was rewarded with a small notice, though it was short on the details. > Slumbering Fireleaf >??? A name was better than nothing, and I remembered the guides that Ernie had brought with us.

"Hey Gene, you read anything about a 'Slumbering Fireleaf'?" Blessedly, they stopped their antics long enough for Gene to give me a proper reply.

"I reckon I did see something like that. Hmm…" He pondered a moment before snapping his fingers.

"If I do recall, she's green all year, then blooms in the winter. That one caught my eye. Thought it was curious that it was so colorful while dormant." I inspected the tree again. > Slumbering Fireleaf If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. > This tree slumbers with a green canopy year-round. It awakens once a year to bloom in a colorful display. Neat! [Inspect]'updated' itself as I learned more information.

Paired with [Recall], the book would certainly prove worthwhile to read on the way to the valley. I added it to my mental TO-DO list and kept an eye out for the perfect candidate. Several hours of travel revealed little promise; softly rolling hills were interspersed with the occasional farm. Travelers on the road were largely friendly and curious, stopping to trade with us and ask about our strange clothing, or where we were headed.

We bought all of the produce one family was intending to sell in Fairfield, which lifted spirits considerably with the added variety for our dinner that night. As Fairfield fell further behind us, the travelers and homesteads both grew sparse and took on a more guarded appearance. Fences were built larger, windows were boarded, and the few people we encountered on the road gave us a wide berth.

It was a little concerning, but I chalked it up to the peculiarities one would need to live this far from society in a world that had goddamn monsters. This wore on until we topped a small knoll, revealing a large copse of trees on the far end of a grassy field. An ancient specimen rose over the others, its dense foliage darkening the undergrowth. When I indicated my desire to check it out, Danny made the call to camp there for the evening, as it was as good a place as any.

We had started a bit later in the afternoon, and while our bodies were stronger than back on Earth, most of us weren't accustomed to walking for hours on end. I took the opportunity to make a closer inspection while the others unloaded the essentials from the cart. Several smaller trees had attempted to grow, but had been choked out by the elder tree, overshadowed by its massive canopy. Smacking the poll of my hatchet against saplings made for a decent litmus test, and I was able to disregard any that were rotted.

A solid thud against a thicker specimen, about two-and-a-half inches in diameter, made my choice for me. I felled the Fireleaf sapling with my hatchet and tested the wood. It was stiff, solid, and most importantly, dead. I braced it against the larger tree and cut off the end, leaving me with something resembling a thick stave about five feet long. With a more wieldy cut, I put one end against the ground and threw my weight against the middle. It bowed, then sprang back straight. Perfect.

Back with the caravan, I took up a spot next to a tree and took a moment to actively cast [Recall]. I had a vague idea of how to make a bow, but once the ability kicked in, the vague concept with missing pieces fell together like a puzzle and the edges completed themselves, only leaving the middle incomplete. Snippets of a bowyer discussing the process flashed in my mind as an old memory struggled to resurface. Then it was gone. My mana had drained from just over a hundred down to only forty.

I was left with an incomplete plan, but enough to make something serviceable. It would seem that I needed to really bump up that [Recall] level if I was going to pull up some old video I'd watched on the verge of sleep years ago. Being kicked from the memory was frustrating, but I was thankful that I wasn't locked in until my mana bottomed out. I wouldn't be able to take that headache every time I wanted to actively remember something…

One point did stand out, one that I'd forgotten: It needed to be shaped from the belly in. The back of the bow would need to stay uncut, or it would drastically weaken its structural integrity and threaten to split where any cuts were made. The sharp hatchet made quick work of the thin bark as I scraped it away, careful not to cut into the wood beneath. My patience in selecting my material had paid off; I was left with a smooth, straight base that lacked any burls.

Slowly, methodically, I pushed my thumb against the poll. Woodchips curled away in a stack until I flipped the stock around and chopped the section off. I repeated this, lightly at first, in the middle, then more heavily at the ends, until my thumb felt like it was going to be permanently bent backward.

"Whatcha doing?" I looked up at a wide-eyed, curious little girl, Abbie, and was grateful for an excuse to rest my hands.

"I'm making a bow, like the ones you shoot arrows with!" I held it out for her to see, and she crouched down to inspect it.

"Pretty neat, huh?"

"Are you sure? That doesn't look like a bow and arrows." She eyed me critically.

"Well, it's not done yet. It'll look much more like a bow when I'm done." I laughed.

"But there's no arrows."

"Very true. I'll have to work on that, won't I?"

"Is that sharp?" She asked, changing the subject, and pointed at my hatchet.

"Super sharp. It could cut your finger right off!" She yanked her hand back with a yelp and ran away, presumably to inform an adult of my dangerous activities. Left alone, I got back to work and began to taper the stock, leaving the ends about three-quarters of an inch wide. For the top half of the bow, I cut from the left side, then swapped once I got about halfway down, and cut away the right side. This left an arrow rest and handle about four inches long.

I didn't want to go too deep with such a crude tool, so I just targeted a close approximation of the final form that I would finish with my new toolset. August, forgive me for what I'm about to do. As much as I hated to do it, the tools would work perfectly well for finishing work on the bow. I retrieved my rucksack from the cart and fished out the small leather bundle of tools. I unrolled the leather and stopped when I saw a small pouch at the bottom that I hadn't noticed when August presented it to me.

A small leather thong tied it shut. I unwound it and tugged it open. My breath caught when I was met with a faint green glow. Turning over the pouch, a small amorphous pearl fell into my palm. It was a concept.