Chương 37: Chapter 33: My Dog is a Bard

In the morning, I packed up camp, and we set out toward the bison. I wasn't sure exactly where they were, since I didn't mark the location on the Map. Another facepalm—it was definitely becoming my signature move. However, I remembered they were in the opposite direction from the town and quite a distance away. So, we walked in that direction all day. Stretch overflowed with energy, darting ahead and back to me.

The three months I spent in the cave must have been very boring for him, and he seemed to feel cooped up. We traveled through a gorgeous country. Towering peaks rose above, valleys stretched below in warm shades of rust, gold, amber, and muted green, with clusters of trees scattered here and there. Their placement felt perfect for stopping to rest, grabbing a bite, or enjoying a drink in the shade. In the evening, I set up camp near a mountain and planned to climb it in the morning to look for the bison.

After lighting the fire and eating, I took out my guitar, and Stretch immediately sat beside me, threw his head back, and howled-sang with the music. I laughed and sang with him. It was a lot of fun. I had a bard dog. The following day, I climbed to the mountaintop and scanned the horizon through my binoculars, but still couldn't spot the bison. The view was breathtaking, with valleys spread out below like a patchwork quilt in shades of gold and rust.

I had always thought spring held the best colors, but standing there with the landscape painted in everything from soft yellow to deep red, I had to reconsider. This was even more stunning. I snapped some photos and finished the roll of film, though I didn't feel like developing them that instant. Convinced we were heading in the right direction, we climbed down and kept going. In the afternoon, we reached the river I had seen from the first mountain and went for a long swim.

The river was wide and deep, with a very slow current, making it perfect for a leisurely swim. I summoned the rowboat and tried to get Stretch in it. Still no dice. For some unexplained reason, he didn't like or trust boats. Judging from his reaction, he was terrified of them. I tried to reason with him, explaining that it wasn't dangerous and was actually a lot of fun, but he didn't believe me.

When I talked, he wagged his tail and licked my face, so I thought I was getting somewhere, but the minute he saw the boat, he ran off. I tried again to carry him into it, thinking maybe this time he'd "get it," but again, he jumped out and swam to shore. Stubborn mutt. I pointed a wet finger at him as he stood on the shore, tail wagging like he had won.

"Mark my words, buddy; I'll get you in the boat one day, and you'll love it. On that day, I'll remind you about all the grief you're giving me right now." He didn't look impressed and lay down for a nap. We stayed by the river for another day; after all this time in a cave, I wanted to enjoy being outside. The sound of flowing water and singing birds was a symphony I'd missed. On the fourth morning, we continued walking.

Stretch seemed to have burned all his excess energy because he walked by my side and didn't run ahead, or maybe the boat negotiation made him subdued. I wasn't in a hurry, so we walked slowly, enjoying nature. This world was so peaceful. I thought I saw another bushland dog, or maybe it was a "real" wolf this time. It was too far away to see, and it ran away too quickly. Stretch didn't react either way. It still amazed me I hardly saw any predators.

I saw them occasionally, but only from afar and only glimpses of feline shapes vacating the premises the minute they saw me, and that one bushland dog. With the abundance of herbivore herds, I thought there should be more of them, but I hardly saw any. Maybe they sense us and hide? By late afternoon, we reached a passage between two mountains that looked more challenging, so I set up camp and left the crossing for the morning. Again, I played and sang with Stretch. Definitely a bard dog.

I had a beer, and Stretch was very curious about it. He kept sniffing it and trying to stick his tongue in the bottle opening, so I poured some into a small bowl and gave him a taste. He loved it and demanded more! Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. My dog is a real bard—he wants to sing and drink. The day he starts chasing ladies, we'll have a serious talk about responsibility.

After laughing at my ridiculous thoughts, I poured him his own bottle. I wagged a finger at him while he waited, ears perked and tail thumping the ground.

"If it causes you a stomach ache or something else, don't come whining to me." He lapped his beer, gave me beer-smelling doggy kisses as a thank you, and continued howl-singing. The following morning, we crossed between the two mountains. The incline was loose gravel and jagged stone, and each push upward sent my boots sliding back half a step. My calves burned, and twice my foot went out from under me, arms flailing, before I caught myself against the rock. Stretch surprised me most.

He clambered up the other mountains like a mountain goat, darting up slopes as if gravity didn't apply to him. Here, his claws scraped and slipped, and for the first time, I had to grab his scruff and push him upward. On the other side, the descent was just as rough, a slow shuffle with loose rocks tumbling ahead of us. The two peaks seemed pressed together, both too steep to bother climbing. I gave up on the idea of scouting from one of them and looked for a friendlier mountain to climb.

We had lunch on the other side of the pass, rested a bit after the physical exertion, and continued walking. In another half an hour, we reached a better mountain. It took us about three hours to climb it, and finally, I could see the bison. Although they were still far, I was sure we were headed in the right direction. I took some more pictures. The same area looked different from every mountaintop, each view breathtaking. I snapped more photos.

Staying until sunset, I took more pictures of the view with the golden colors of the sunset mirroring the meadows and shrubs below, their colors fading into gold and rust. The pictures would be epic; I was sure of it. We slept on the mountaintop that night. It was flat and wide enough for a sleeping bag and a blanket without the danger of one of us rolling off. In the morning, we climbed down and continued our trek. I estimated it would take another two days to reach the bison, and I was right.

On the evening of the second day, we reached the valley with the bison. I set up camp at the entrance to the valley, and we had a nice dinner with beer. Yes, both of us. In the morning, I decided to skin and butcher two bison the "regular" way to get a feel for my skills and then switch to "looting," or at least "attempted looting." I could always infuse the meat with mana later. I picked the first candidate and dropped it in one shot.

After the rest of the herd cleared the area, I dragged the bison to a tall and sturdy tree. When I wanted to open its stomach, my skill "told" me to lay it on its back. I never did it like this. I usually left the carcass lying on its side. But I followed the guidance, laid it on its back, opened the belly, and removed the entrails. Now, I also knew that I was hanging them wrong. It turned out you hung it with the head down, not by its neck. Live and learn. Live and learn.

After it drained, I spread a large plastic sheet, lowered it from the tree, and skinned it, following my skill. It was hard work. By the time I finished, I was sweating buckets. Then I butchered it. It was easier than skinning, and I needed less "prompting" from my skill since the butcher in the town showed me how to butcher a carcass. When I finished and cleaned everything, I decided that doing one bison the "regular" way was more than enough.

It was hard physical labor, and I was covered in blood almost from head to toe. One experience was enough for me. Thank you very much. Even after casting three Clean spells on myself, I still felt dirty, so I washed in the nearby stream. Hard to believe people did that for fun. I could understand butchers and hunters. It was their job after all. But there was no chance of my going hunting for fun on weekends. Ugh! It was already afternoon, and I had finished my work for the day.

When I returned to camp, I opened the cooler holding the bison and began imbuing the meat with mana. I tried to control the mana and avoid exploding the beef, and succeeded with most of it. Some smaller pieces popped, but the rest stayed whole. Yes! No more exploding carcasses. I cooked us bison burgers with a baked potato for me, and we had dinner. Stretch kept putting his paws on my shoulders and back, sniffing all around me, and nudging me with his muzzle. It was so obvious he wanted a beer!

I resisted for a while—I didn't want an alcoholic dog. But eventually, I broke down, gave him a beer, and had one myself. I took out my guitar and began playing. Stretch immediately started singing. The second song I played was Dancing in the Dark by Bruce Springsteen, and I got up and danced while playing and singing. Stretch also got up and ran circles around me while howl-singing. It felt great to be alive.