Chapter 018 Hero

But if you travel far enough, one day you will recognize yourself coming down the road to meet yourself.

-Marion Woodman, 1982, Addiction To Perfection: The Still Unravished Bride: A Psychological Study

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Cuholy was a disappointment.

A mild one but a disappointment non-the-less, Neron decided as he watched the fox flee from a pair of goblins while idly scratching the fur on the side of his snout.

It wasn't the fear. Fear was rational. Useful. It told one when they were in danger, when they were confronted by something they couldn't handle. It was an evolutionary advantage. There was no species that would evolve away a fight, flight, freeze, fawn, and flop response. Those were all valid methods of dealing with potential danger and if one did not have that response you were not likely to survive to pass on your genes.

It wasn't the panic. Fear led to panic. That was also normal. It superseded rational thought and led the body to instinctual responses, even if they were the wrong ones some of the time, they were the right one most of the times. The fox was right to flee from the goblin. If she didn't, she'd die. If she got absurdly lucky, she might be able to kill one by surprise. Killing two was a statistic impossibility.

It wasn't the pacifism. Cuholy wasn't against fighting or drawing blood or killing things. Those too were rational and instinctual. As a carnivore, she needed to kill to eat. There was no option for her to have a completely herbivorous lifestyle, unlike modern humans who had substitutes for meat. She'd kill pretty much anything. So long as it wouldn't put up a fight, that is. Which also made sense, in a manner of speaking. Why put herself at extra risk when she had Neron and Jorry for that? She'd already done her part to act as bait, and leaving them to do theirs was a bit selfish but not to the degree that it seriously inconvenienced either of the two.

Neron could forgive all that, could even admire the rationale of such survival focused mentality, were it not for two points of contention.

These actions were not deliberate. She did all this without any conscious thought or choice, not even realizing she was doing it or planning on doing so. She was completely at the mercy of her internal emotional drives, even when they were hypocritical and selfish.

And she wasn't trying to improve.

Neron could respect selfishness and self-preservation. Neron accept being emotionally driven rather than by goals or logic.

What Neron disliked were those who did nothing. Who, when faced with challenges, obstacles, or problems, did not try to overcome them. Who were passive and let the world do with them what it willed.

They'd cry injustice, unfairness, or lament their weakness, but at the end of the day they'd be counting on a miracle to save them instead of doing anything themselves.

And yet, when Cuholy crossed the line in the sand in her crazed flight from her pursuers, Neron was still that miracle.

The line was pulled tight and two pairs of goblin eyes widened in surprise as a thick cord of rope, tied tightly in a simple bowline knot around the stub of a squat tree, rose in a tense line. Their stubby legs were not tall enough to walk over it. Their speed of chase did not give them the chance to jump it. Their extended upper body made them top heavy.

With his feet braced against a half buried bolder and weighing more than both of them combined, the pair had no chance of pulling the rope from his grasp. They fell in a heap of flailing limbs and disgruntled cries of 'dangerambushkill.' Their fall placed them in a patch freezing mud, still loose from the morning's cold rain.

As soon as he felt tension lessen in the rope from their fall, Neron released it, rising to his feet and grabbing his tools from beside himself as he did. He didn't have a lot of time. These creatures were very familiar with moving around on all fours and would be back on their feet in seconds. Seconds that he'd need to use to reach them.

Thankfully, he had something to keep them occupied while he did so.

"AHA!" Jorry cried as he launched himself from the mud and into the face of one of the goblins, and bit it right in the eyeball. A preferred target of his. "'ear da dag'n!"

The goblin screeched in pain, its voice high and reedy, and the other goblin jerked away in fear from the noise, stalling its attempts to get up for a moment longer.

Then Neron was there stomping on the second goblin, forcing its head back into the muck while his other foot was planted on its lower back. It made no noise, it couldn't while drowning in the mud, but it flailed, bucking to throw Neron off.

Neron wobbled slightly, but that was it. The mud gave it no traction, its short limbs couldn't reach his legs, and Neron weighed around two hundred kilograms. It wasn't enough to break its spine, especially not in a world with superhuman robustness, but mass still had its own advantage and the goblin would not be getting him off without help.

Help it wouldn't get because Neron drove his staff down onto the goblin trying, and failing, to pry Jorry from its face.

His first swing missed, his staff glancing off an arm with a crack and sending up a splash of mud. The goblin howled in renewed pain and Neron's second blow took it on the back. It buckled, but held. Neron pursed his lips in concentration as his third hit missed completely thanks to the bucking of the creature he was standing on and he was forced to readjust his balance.

"Let go Jorry," Neron ordered and the snake obeyed, dropping back into the mud and leaving a bloody mess behind on the creature's face. Freed from the snake's fangs, the goblin raised its head with a snarl, putting its stocky limbs beneath it to rise and attack Neron...

... And in doing so put its skull at the perfect level for a swing to come from the side.

There was loud smack, a subtle crack, and the goblin went sprawling back into the mud and lay there limply.

"Finish it of," Neron ordered with a release of breath as he planted his staff on the ground and used to keep his balance as the goblin under him continued to try and buck him off.

"Only if you start a fire soon," Jorry grumbled but did as he was told, slithering toward the limp goblin. The snake stayed out of reach of its limbs, just to be safe, but there were no further movements from the creature as he coiled around its neck and began to squeeze. "I'm freezing here. Next time, you hide in the mud."

"Then you can do my job," Neron said drolly. Wasn't there something he had read last week about snakes... Ah! That was it. "You can be the nope rope."

"'Nope ro-'" Jorry began in confusion before realizing what it meant and dissolving into expletives about being a dragon and not a rope.

Really, the number of absurd names and phrases on the internet about animals was quite impressive. Neron did not know when he'd be able to use terms like 'Danger Noodle' or 'Hazard Spaghetti' but he was certainly looking forward to Jorry's reaction.

"... Is it over?" Cuholy asked from a distance away, peaking her head out of a bush.

"Mostly," Neron said, keeping any emotion out of his voice. "All that is left is the killing. Do you want to deal with this one?"

The goblin under his feet, who's ears were high enough on its head to be able to hear him, continued its futile struggle for air with renewed effort.

Cuholy shuddered and ducked down to hide again.

Jorry let out a noise of disgust as he continued to tighten his coils. Constrictor snakes could exert tremendous force around captives, enough to break bones and kill them well before they ran out of air, or more likely cause cardiac arrest from blood flow interruption, but it wasn't an instantaneous process. It was a winch which slowly tightened, rather than someone falling from a noose. The size difference also didn't speed it up.

"She'll never be anything like this." The serpent did not bother to lower his voice. "I know you need her for her traits, but she's slowing us down."

"She is not," Neron answered, also loud enough for Cuholy to hear him. Which wasn't loud enough to be suspicious, as she had wonderful hearing. "Just because she does not help in combat does not mean she does not have her uses."

"As bait," Jorry said derisively. There was a subtle CRACK and the goblin Jorry was choking out twitched spasmodically a few times before becoming limp once more. "And she can't even do that right. She panics every time. We'd get better results if we used that rope to tie her up and throw her at the goblins."

If Neron was mildly disappointed in Cuholy and disliked her actions then Jorry took those feelings and magnified them significantly. He reviled her for her fear, saw her every action as something pathetic, even disgusting. And Cuholy never said anything against him.

"I promised to feed and protect her." Adjusting his balance again so he could exert more force on the goblin's lower back as it tried to get its legs under it, Neron did not reject Jorry's harsh words. "That is what I will do."

Neron was not against the idea of breaking is word, if it was worth it, but one needed to be very careful when doing so. Just like lying, gaining a reputation for treachery and oath-breaking was the type of thing that could have very long running aftereffects. Especially when one broke their word to their subordinates. That was a very easy way to create treachery within said subordinates.

"You could send her to your sisters," Jorry suggested, uncoiling from his victim. "She'd be safe with them. And fed. And you wouldn't even need to release her from your skill."

That wasn't a bad idea, actually. The mechanics of the transfer would need to be thought about, and any time Cuholy died she still return to him, but it was possible. And they'd never had a pet before. They'd wanted one, but it had never worked out.

It was still to early to decide on something like that though. The three of them had only been hunting goblins for a week, and Cuholy hadn't been with them for more than ten days. That was not enough time to pass judgement on whether she was worth a longer term investment or should be set aside.

And it wasn't like she was useless either. It was thanks to a combination of her and Jorry that they were able to be so successful in hunting the wild goblins. The trio had run into a few others, also 'employed' by the Hijal guild to slay goblins, and learned they were having a lot of trouble finding the creatures in the first place. 

It wasn't that the goblins were hiding, but rather the area they'd spread out over was just so large that a dozen low level Players and Natives couldn't cover it easily. The goblins moved on their own whims, chasing anything they could kill and eat, and most people at this low level that were interested in combat had not yet developed skills or items dedicated to locating prey. They were more invested in trying to stay alive in battle. Then, if they were a group of two or more, lone goblins would flee as soon as they realized they were outnumbered. Beasts and monsters might be driven to kill to evolve, but they weren't stupid. If they thought they were going to die they wouldn't fight.

It was a combination of Jorry and Neron's ability to detect scents with their tongues that let them find trails, then Cuholy's hearing which left them aware of goblins well before the creatures were aware of them. From there, they could set up their ambushes. Ambushes where Cuholy was the only one who could be bait. Jorry was too slow and Neron too big. 

Did Cuholy always panic and forget the plan when confronted with danger? Yes, but Neron had learned to account for that and give himself a more generous room for error. Neron was always cautious. Even if he could overpower the monsters relatively easily with his size and reach, there was no reason not to stack every advantage to minimize the chance of injury or accident.

It was thanks to the three of them working together that they averaged seven and a half goblin kills per day, opposed to what most other hunters managed. As far as Neron understood it, they were doing spectacularly well for non-dungeon hunting by gaining two levels in a week.

No, Cuholy was still an asset for the moment and Neron hadn't given up on finding the right leverage to get her to get her act together.

Speaking of...

"She would be safe temporarily," Neron answered with a sigh, acting as if he wished it were different. "But the greatest way to be safe is to get strong enough that you do not need others to protect you."

"But you always say-"

"Working with others is not weakness," Neron held up a hand to interrupt Jorry. And stop him from slithering up his leg. Just because he didn't mind the mud didn't mean he wanted it inside his clothes. "Nine times out of ten, cooperation generates greater results than the sum of its parts. That does not change the fact that there are always times when you are alone, when you do not have anyone to advise you, protect you, or help you. When that time comes, if you can not protect yourself, you will fail. And die."

The goblin under Neron's feet struggles had slowly weakened as they talked and now it barely twitched. Neron remained in place, continuing to choke it on the mud. It took a lot longer to drown than one would expect and there was no point exposing himself to risk if it was smart enough to fake death.

"The simple truth is, I will not always be around," Neron continued, catching sight of Cuholy approaching out of the corner of his eyes. He pretended not to notice. "No Player will. We have lives in our world. Sometimes they prevent us from coming here. Or we could die there and never come back at all. And Natives will die as they age. If you and her continue to evolve, you will eventually become monsters with longer lives. It is inevitable that you will end up having to rely on yourselves. So the best way I can help you, and help her, is to help you grow. Keeping you safe in the short term will kill you in the long term."

Were his words a touch more heavy handed than he liked? Sure, but nothing he said was technically wrong.

"She'll never evolve if she keeps running away from a fight." The way Jorry was positioning his head made it clear he was talking to someone behind Neron but once more he pretended not to notice.

"If her only goal is to live, then running accomplishes it more than fighting. At least in the short term," Neron shrugged casually. "Maybe she has not found something worth fighting for."

Jorry didn't speak, ruminating on Neron's words and in that silence Cuholy spoke, her voice faint.

"... I think it's dead."

"Maybe," Neron nodded, looking over his shoulder to the small fox. She didn't meet his eyes. "It could be faking it. Or just unconscious. It takes time for something to die, even in the worst circumstances."

Tentatively, with three of her paws poised to push herself away at the slighted hint of danger, Cuholy poked the goblin with a claw. It didn't move. She looked up at him, an expression he couldn't make out completely on her face. Then again, as much as his skill translated their speech, and to a degree their body language, into words it was only for things they wanted to 'say.' Otherwise, they were just like any other animal in expression.

How to explain this? How make it both understandable and useful?

"Death is a... gradient. A spectrum," Neron started, not getting down from the creature. "When it happens, it is absolute. The end. But the process is not so. And that end is further down the gradient than most expect. If I use this goblin as an example, it is something this: it choked on mud, it scrambled for air and in doing so got mud in its lungs. With mud in its lungs, oxygen was not going to its brain. Without oxygen, the brain started to shut down. But it does so piece by piece, not all at once. It is trying to live too. So it shuts off the energy intensive processes, like consciousness. But even then, the brain will persist for a while. Minutes if we were talking about regular humans in my world, each of which is probably weaker than you-"

"AH!?" Cuholy cried out in shock and Neron froze mid-sentence, staring down at her in confusion.

Right, he'd explained it to Jorry, not her.

"Most adults could probably still kill you," Neron explained easily, seeing an opportunity here. "But that is because they are larger. Even then, if you were level fifty or so, you would probably still be able to kill them as you are. If they had weapons, depending on the type, they could still kill you until you reach level... one hundred? One fifty? But if you reached level two hundred you would be practically immortal in my world."

It was hard to put exact numbers on this kind of thing. Guns, for example, were a significant force multiplier, especially when larger caliber weaponry entered the equation, to say nothing of hardware like tanks and missiles entered the fray. Yet many Players had discovered the hard way that conventional weapons fell off at higher levels and they fell off hard. A small caliber gun might hurt something below fifty and an elephant gun might deal significant damage to something in the early hundreds, but after that? 

There was an infamous video of a Player with a 'Gunsmith' Nature wielding a fully functional rifle the length of a car. Neron didn't know much about guns, just that this thing's bullets were bigger than his head and that when the Player tried to use it on a Native, a romantic rival, the man had taken it on the temple with barely a flinch and a bruise. Then the Native had proceeded to catch the second bullet barehanded and toss it right back down the barrel of the gun. 

From three kilometers away. 

And the Native was only on his third Job.

So, yes, guns and modern weapons were of limited use in the upper levels. At least not without dedicating one's Nature entirely to their use, which sacrificed the greatest advantages guns possessed, which was their mass manufacturing or ease of use by laymen.

Even if Cuholy never evolved once, so long as she reached level two hundred she would be practically unkillable in the modern world. Void, a few high level Players with backgrounds in the sciences hypothesized that a level three hundred creature could take a nuclear blast to the face and survive. And the highest recorded level was over five hundred.

Just as it was a mistake to believe power was the be-all end-all, it would also be a mistake to think that this world operated by the same rules as his own. Just because Neron would almost certainly never reach those upper levels of power did not mean he shouldn't seek to fold knowledge of them into his worldview. By doing so he was able to interact with Natives much better than if he tried to impose 'real world' rules on God's Nature.

"Anyway," Neron returned to his train of thought from the digression they'd stumbled down. He lowered himself to his haunches, careful to continue to balance himself of the goblin, and looked at the fox. Her head was still half a meter below his, but now she wasn't staring straight up. A tactic to make him more relatable and less threatening. "Even if something looks like they are dead, they are usually alive longer than they appear. If the correct steps are taken in time, they can even be brought back from seemingly fatal wounds. If you clear the lungs and get them moving you can restart oxygen flow to the brain. Even if I were to break its neck, it would still be alive for a little while. Theoretically, if the damage were healed quick enough, even decapitation is recoverable. And that is for regular humans in my world, which are much weaker than creatures here. I do not know the biology of these creatures, so I must be extra careful."

"You'd be more careful if you didn't fight them at all."

Jorry scoffed. Loudly. Cuholy looked over the snake slithering out of the mud.

"'Careful' is not 'cowardice.'"

The fox flinched, ears flattening and tail drooping.

"True," Neron said with a sigh, as if he did not want to agree with the snake. "You want to eat? You want to live? You kill. Your prey does not wish to die either. They will run. They will fight." The fox flinched again, this time a full body shudder as she stepped back, head swiveling left and right over the heath as if expecting said prey to emerge from the bushes this very moment. "But you have an amazing opportunity here. The stronger you get, the safer you get when you hunt the same prey, the more kinds of prey you can take down, leading to getting stronger." 

That trap everyone seemed to fall in to in this world, this desire for 'levels' or 'advancement' was useful in this regard at least. Power wasn't safety. Power was the illusion of safety. But an illusion can be more useful than reality. And, if he wanted to fold this fox into his little group, he needed it to want that illusion. Want it enough to risk her life for it.

Cuholy didn't say anything and Neron rose back to his full height with another sigh, concealing his thoughts. He had the beginnings of a plan regarding the fox.

"Give it some thought," he said gently. "We can not live your life, only you can. What do you want out of it?" The cowardly fox met his eyes and the Beast smiled a conspiratorial smile. "There are no wrong answers."

He'd planted the seeds, now he simply needed to provide the rain and sun. The only question was if the soil was fertile.

Unfortunately, God's Nature was not kind enough to let him farm in peace.

******

Winters in the Calderine region seldom delivered snow, and what it did bring remained for only short bursts. The sea to the west, however, ensured that the winter months were wet. Rain was common, as were harsh winds, leading to it feeling much colder than the actual temperature would suggest. 

And then there were the storms. 

Blowing from the west, they rushed over land unbroken by any mountains. To the south, they crashed into the Bone Wall, halting their progress and funneling them northward. While this caused issues for the fertility of land, leading to the heath Neron now traveled, the main concern for the wandering Player and his beast companions was that, during this storm, they were caught unprepared.

It had been just after midday when the rain started to fall. Not the first time such had happened, Neron had simply thrown on his cloak's hood and continued his goblin hunt. For the next few hours they had little success, the rain and rising wind dispersing any trail they might have followed, even with his companions' enhanced senses.

He only realized the true severity of the storm when the wind rose to such a pitch Cuholy began to have trouble walking. The sea of black clouds to the west, roiling forward in a dark tide, convinced him it was time to find shelter.

Which was a problem.

"Can you see anything?" Neron asked, practically shouting to be heard over the rain and wind. The sun was still up, but visibility was poor and he could barely make out vague shapes beyond a hundred meters.

"There's a riverbed over there!" Cuholy poked her head out from his hood to point forward and to the right. A strong blow of wind knocking the garment down to his neck and the fox ducked again as Neron used the hand not holding his staff to pull it back up over his head. 

"If this keeps up it will flood during the night," Neron denied, shifting his shoulders so his bag let the fox stand on it an remain under the cloak. "Keep an eye out! We need something with at least three sides to protect from the wind."

"Rrrrrrrgh," Cuholy let out yipping grown of frustration. "You're too big! You won't fit anywhere good!"

"Bigger... better..."

Neron let the two bicker as he pushed forward, the wind whipping his cloak into a frenzy and his hand going numb around his staff. He was maintaining his core temperature, thanks to the jacket his sister had made and the fur he was trying to assimilate, but his limbs and head were soaked and freezing. Jorry wasn't any help, barely holding onto consciousness as he wrapped around Neron's chest, and Cuholy had limited line of sight due to hiding under his cloak.

Rain pelted him, its ferocity giving it an almost concussive force as it battered at them. The wind was at his back, his increased mass being offset by his size and he'd decided to work with the torrent instead of exhausting himself by pushing against it. Neron suddenly had a much greater appreciation for Ysold's Hall. A Martian like him, who'd never dealt with rain in his life let alone a storm such as this, would be completely helpless if not for their instructions. He definitely needed to thank his sisters for their recommendation.

That thought, that single moment of distraction, cost him.

The ground gave way under his feet and Neron slid, loose mud sending him tumbling down. He rolled, Cuholy and Jorry crying out in pain as his weight crushed them for brief seconds and his staff smashed into his head. His hands grasped futilely for holds, more mud and wet dirt unable to handle his weight. Splaying his legs, Neron arrested himself as he slid to a stop at the bottom of a small slope, invisible in the pelting rain. Covered in mud from head to toe, bruised from the fall, and half lying in a stream of water, Neron grasped his staff and used it to push himself up with a groan.

"Are you two still alright?" He asked, spitting out mud from his snout and wiping more from his face. He didn't get everything, his fur remaining caked in it, but it stopped blocking his vision and clogging his nose.

"Don't... do... again..." Jorry got out. 

The fox let out pained whimpers and moans instead of answering.

"Cuholy?"

"Alive," she eventually answered pitifully. "But... my leg..."

Neron let out a breath as he evaluated their situation.

The hill he'd fallen down wasn't supper high, in fact he could peak over it if he jumped, but it was caked in loose mud and climbing back up would be impossible in this situation. The wind was less down here but a stream was already soaking through his boots. If another few joined with it upstream he could end up caught in a flash flood. 

He needed to get out. Fast.

He was soaked, caked in freezing mud, and with two potential injured animals to carry. He hadn't slept last night, which meant he was approaching the end of his rest cycle and fatigue would start to seriously hit in a few hours. Earlier, as he needed continue to push through the storm while carrying his luggage along with Jorry and Cuholy. He'd tire much faster.

What were his options?

Log out? He could and log back in a few hours. The storm should have passed by then. But that would leave Jorry and Cuholy behind to die. If he found safe a place to hide them, maybe it would be possible, but they were helpless at the moment and goblins were still around. It wasn't that Neron was against leaving them behind if there was no other choice, it was simply that the cost in their trust and reliance on him would not be worth surviving this storm. For that same reason he couldn't leave them behind.

So that left pushing on to find shelter. Only with Cuholy injured, and not knowing how bad it was...

"The Nest: Human body hair."

#

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"Yes."

Fur shortened and receded back to his usual body hair and instantly he felt his temperature start dropping. Whatever Body was required to prevent death from hypothermia, Neron had not yet reached it. His jacket remained a source of warmth, more than it should he idly noted, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough to withstand the wet on top of the cold.

"Neron?" Cuholy asked, her head trying to poke out over his shoulder again but fell back with a whimper of pain.

"Shhhh," Neron consoled, reaching over his shoulder as the rain continued to beat them. He gently grasped the fox and, once he felt her go limp in his hand, pulled her to the front of his chest. "It is going to be alright."

Cradling the small creature, Neron swung his bag off his back, balancing it on his muddy knee.

"What are you doing?" Cuholy asked, her voice small.

"Keeping my promise," Neron answered with a grim smile.

If he was going to play the hero then he should go all the way and get the most out of it.

Carefully, he opened the flap at the top of the pack, pulled a change of clothes up to cover the rest of the contents and pushed them down. The bag, sized for orcs like most products Neron bought in God's Nature, had a hand span of depth available and Neron carefully placed the fox upon its contents. Cuholy looked up at him, fur damp with rain and her front right paw twisted in a painful direction.

"You need to hold on a bit," he told her as he rearranged a few things around her. Good, there should be enough room. He'd been considering throwing away some of its contents. It would be tight, but manageable.  "Once I find a safe place, I will take a look at that. Jorry, you too. Get in the bag."

It was a testament to how unsuited the snake was to the current environment that he didn't even complain as he sluggishly slithered his way up Neron's shirt to start to coil into the bag. Neron ended up helping to pull him out and letting him ring around the fox. It was much tighter than expected, Jorry wrapping around the wet and shivering fox as if he were ready to constrict her and more than once Cuholy flinched when the snake's weight landed on her damaged limb.

"I am going to close this," Neron said gently, covering the pack and tightening the fastening. "Poke your noses out to breath and call for me if anything happens. Got it?"

Was the water level rising or was that just his imagination? Either way, he needed to leave this trench.

"Got it."

"I do."

Neron re strapped his bag under his cloak, took up his staff and called upon his skill.

"The Nest: Fox eyes."

For a moment, Neron feared that his skill level or stats weren't enough as nothing appeared to happen. Then his eyes began to burn and itch.

The pain mitigation was doing its job, what should be excruciating torture reduced to a mere sense of burning, as if he'd spilled hot sauce in them. Neron let out a grunt as he began to furiously rub his closed lids, mud smearing across his face as tried to mitigate the stinging. Then it was gone. Letting out a breathe of relief, Neron carefully opened his eyes.

It is hard to put into exact words how the world looked with a fox's eyes.

Neron could see better in the dim light of the late afternoon as his pupils dilated to their full degree, picking up more of what little light there was. His field of vision had expanded, not to the degree of an actual fox due to the shape of his skull, but wide enough that he could now see his peripherals more clearly.

In exchange, he lost much of his overlapping details. Again, not to the same effect as an actual fox due to the position of his eyes in his skull, but enough that finer details were washed away. Colour was also muted. Foxes weren't completely colourblind, and this wasn't the most colorful time, but it was noticeable. The greatest concern was the loss in far sight. If, with this illumination, Neron could have seen clearly for kilometers over the relatively flat heath, now he could only see clearly a few hundred meters in front of himself with any accuracy and everything further was a blurry blob that blended with everything else. His eyes were now further specialized to catching movement, not on spotting incoming threats at a great enough distance to flee.

Altogether, it was as if everything he looked at was out of the corner of his eyes. It was disconcerting, slightly nauseating, and in daylight his human eye would be a better choice.

And it was Neron's best chance at reaching shelter safely. More than seeing further, seeing in the dark near him was essential. Another fall like that could spell their end.

"Hold tight," Neron told his little burdens, hunching forward and pushing upriver.

"Are you going to be okay?" Cuholy's voice came out muffled from inside the pack.

"Of course." His feet were absolutely freezing as the water washed over and into his boots. Which was good. It was when he lost sensation that he would start to worry. 

Neron needed to get out of this ditch soon.

"He's... strong," Jorry's weak voice was barely audible. "A... dragon's... partner."

"Try and sleep," Neron told the snake, eyes scanning the sides of this divot. "Cuholy's body heat will start to warm up the bag but you should not use energy."

There!

Grasping a root poking out from the left bank, Neron tested his weight against it. It held. With a heave, Neron hoisted himself up the bank, feet futilely scrambling through the muddy slope for purchase. He began to slide back down, hand reaching for the lip he grabbed a handful of dirt that gave way under his weight. 

He fell back down, feet splashing into icy water once more but he stopped himself from crashing by bracing his hands and legs, caking them further in muddy, freezing water.

Undaunted, Neron backed up, let out a huff of visible breath and rushed forward in a running leap. The momentum carried him up higher than before, but the weight of his pack and the slipperiness of the slope stopped him from mounting the side. It was enough, however, to get one of his feet on the root and let him push himself high enough to brace an arm against the lip. Well aware of the looseness of the ground now, Neron spread his weight as much as he could across his arms, head poking out over the edge.

A bush, the source of the root, rested half a meter from him, barren of leaves with its branches whipping in the wind. Neron reached for it, carefully waiting for the moment it would sway his way, he grasped a few of its branches in his hands, sharp points digging into his flesh as he wrapped them around his hand. With his foot on the root, an arm braced across the ground, and the branches in hand, Neron managed to pull himself up and onto solid ground once more.

Neron panted slightly, his breath lost in the wind now that he wasn't protected by the ditch, as he rose to his feet. With a fox's eyes, he scanned the dark horizon. Everything in the distance was a blur, and what light there was would be fading fast. He had another hour, maybe two, and then not even his new eyes would be able to make out the ground in front of himself. He couldn't rush. Another fall, or even tripping at the wrong moment, could spell disaster. He was shedding heat at a prodigious rate.

If he sprained an ankle, he would die.

If he took too long to find shelter, he would die.

If he didn't warm up soon, he would die.

If he ran into a monster, he would die.

If the ground collapsed under him, he would die.

Freezing, in the dark, battered by wind and rain, carrying all he owned, and burdened with two extra lives, Neron set off into the winter storm.

Those first steps were the worst. The daunting task ahead of him, the sheer likelihood of death, made them hesitant. Small. Shuffling. A child's first steps.

His feet were freezing, socks soaked through and water had pooled in his boots. Yet he walked on. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Neron walked on.

His grip on his staff was solid, his fingers frozen tightly to the wood an metal. His left hand bled from scratches from the bush. He couldn't spare the time and concentration to heal them.

His cloak whipped at him, the harsh wind giving it a physical force that stung like a lash against his legs. His bloody hand held the hood down, trying in vain to keep water from his back and the pack.

His size worked against him. Two and a half meters and broad of shoulder, he was a kite fighting the gale. He was fighting the sky's current as rapids beat upon his chest, his back, and his head.

A river. A flooded ravine, just as he'd feared would happen earlier, blocked his path. Foxes eyes, specialized for tracking movement latched on to a mass of rubble rushing down its surface. Two meters across. Too far to jump in his condition. Neron turned to follow it upstream.

The ground moved. He threw himself back in a jump that was more of a fall. Loose dirt crumbled away the river grew. He got back up and continued upstream.

A narrowing at the bend. One meter. Wind at his back. It was possible. Lead up. Jump. Legs not responding properly. Stumble. Fall. Roll. Get back up. Push onward.

The wind howled its wintry fury. The rain pounded like thunderous drums. Cuholy called out a question. Neron yelled back an answer. It was all lost.

His eyes were heavy. His feet were heavy. His hands were heavy. His hands were heavy. His head was heavy.

The sounds. The numbness. The wet. The cold. The darkness. The fatigue. It was all lost.

It was all noise. Loud noise. Distracting noise. Noise that took from him. It took and took and took.

What was left was raw. Exposed. Sanded away by rain and wind. What was left was the journey, the push. The one foot in front of the other. The vague, blurry target in the distance.

And the weight. The weight of his body, his mind, and his burdens. Those two lives. Small, useless lives. Lives that chained him to this world and this weight when he could easily flee.

Neron was wet. So wet it weighed him down. Neron was cold. So cold he forgot the feeling of warmth. Neron was tired. So very tired.

He was still moving forward. Still advancing toward an unknown goal. He didn't know if it even existed. 

It might not. It might be impossible. This might have all been absolutely pointless. Neron moved forward anyway.

An irregular mound, too blocky to be a hill. Too solid to be vegetation. A mass of rocks. Exposed by years of storms like this one. Solid structures. Crevices to hid from the wind.

One step. Another. Another. Another. Legs that felt like leaden clubs. Shaking arms. Back bowed by weight. Body convulsing with involuntary shivers. Another step. Another.

He was here. A mass of conglomerated rocks, clustered in a pile. Seven meters at its peak, twice that in length. Outcroppings. Overlapping structures of small and large gaps.

...

He circled the mound till it blocked most of the wind. He searched for a hiding place. Too small. Too narrow. A hole in the roof. Water flowed in that one.

...

There! Above that round one! Two boulders leaning against each other. A gap, a meter tall, two, two and half deep. Cramped but it'd work.

...

Climb up the wet rock. Take off pack. Put in back corner. Arms stiff. Frostbite set in. Need fire soon.

...

Cuholy asking question. Ignore. Jorry asleep. Ignore. Need material for fire. Clothes? No. Need dryer set. Tent? Useless in storm. Use tent for fire. Use floor pad for wall. Wall first, make fire easier. Use tent rods in stone to hold up. Sculpt holes for rods.

...

Spell failed. Need to concentrate. Spell failed. Need mnemonic. Spell succeeded. Fingers stiff. Jam in wall.

...

First hole done. Sculpt second hole- Movement!

Goblins. Four. Crawling out of nowhere. Hiding from storm in between the rocks. Voices lost in the storm. 

Consider him easy prey or wouldn't risk it. Storm less dangerous to them because they're small. Instincts for weakened Blessed overpowering safety concern.

Combat... impossible. Outnumbered. Limbs stiff. Jorry and Cuholy useless. Impossible to survive. Impossible to flee.

Haven't pounced. Walls on all sides but in front. Ambush impossible. Pre-evolution race was stoat-like. Using fear as a tactic. Waiting for further weakening.

Physical contest success impossible. Psychological solution... Possible. Threat displays... Viable evolutionary tactic. Animal kingdom is ruthless. Getting the kill is important. Getting the kill uninjured, more so.

Step from alcove. Rise to full height. Spread legs. Spread arms. Brandish staff. Widen cloak for larger profile. Scream. Loud. Deep.

Goblins flinch! They retreat slightly! Step closer, scream again. Push advantage, don't let the bluff falter!

Further back. Goblins continue to retreat. Spread mouth, pull back lips, show teeth. One more push- "Watch out!"

Light blooms in the darkness.

Rain is banished. Wind stills. Warmth fills him. Pain disappears.

A man holding a glowing shield in a white halo above his head, a ring of light radiating outward that the rain and wind and cold cannot pass.

A sweep of a sword in the other hand and the three goblins are dead.

"Are you alright?" He calls out, looking up in concern and worry.

That kindness.

That warmth.

In all his life, Neron had never felt hatred as he did for that man in that moment.

******

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