I found a quiet place between two elm trees to bury the bones. The light dappled the ground, and a breeze rustled the leaves. A wild rose bush added color and fragrance to the air. The poor soldier died so violently, it was important to me to give them a peaceful grave. Honestly, I had no clue about the ceremonies or rituals they’d want, but I felt I had to do something.

I worked the ground with my digging stick (a new one) and the metal shield, using it like a shovel. I found myself tearing up for the nameless soldier. If I died in the forest and someone found my bones, what would they do? Would they take the time to find me a quiet place?

I shook the questions from my head. “That’s no way to honor the dead. They deserve better.”

When the soldier’s bones were covered over, I closed my eyes and prayed to Meliune, the Goddess of Compassion, to let them find peace and move on to wherever souls were meant to go. Then, before I could think too hard about the usefulness of the metal, and I stamped the shield into the ground as a grave marker.

###

The rest of the loot went into the cave for now. I was mentally worn, and my body was starving. Not at the level of Starving, but enough to feel like I could eat another whole fish or two.

And bonus, I found a hickory tree and an elderberry bush on the way to the stream. The elderberries were tart and the hickory nuts bitter, but I didn’t care. Each provided nutrients I wouldn’t otherwise get. My pantry expanded! The tyranny of plums and fennel was officially ended!

I caught three fish, including one of the little orange ones. They were fast, but my skill with the fishing spear was improving. The otter didn’t mind eating the small fish, so I gave it a try too. It tasted like a cross between chicken and macadamia nuts. Weird in a fish, but tasty.

It was mid afternoon by the time we finished eating. The otter, gone all lazy, spread out and lay on her back. She made tiny woob woob woob noises when she snored. I never wanted a video camera so much in my life. I listened while I examined the loot.

The coins were stamped with images and writing--a tower, an eagle, a man’s face, and a woman’s face. The writing was nothing I’d seen before. I set the coins and the dice aside for now. They weren’t immediately useful, but I hoped they would be later.

The helmet was intact, if a little bent. It would make for a good pot, useful for gathering fruit and nuts, making soup, and mixing ingredients. Never underestimate the power of a metal pot!

The ripped mail was more of a dilemma. The issue was that I really needed a pouch to free up my hands and still carry things, and the largest piece of chain mesh would make a decent pouch with the right cordage. I wouldn’t be able to use it for anything liquid or granular, but it’d work for anything else.

The other option was to cord all the pieces together into a patchwork chain shirt. One with significant gaps in protection, but it’d be better than nothing, which is what I currently had.

So, utility or defense?

Wait, was that even a question? Without defense, I’d not be alive long enough for utility to matter. And besides, I’d eventually make a pouch. Animal hides were on the list of priorities now that shelter, water, and food were settled.

One, I needed new clothes soon. My shirt was shredded, and my pants torn in four, five, six different places.

Two, I needed warmer clothes. Maybe not now, but eventually. The trees in the area were those adapted to cold winters, and that didn’t bode well for me, ostracized as I was from civilization.

So, I needed hides (and furs), which meant I needed to hunt animals. Which also helped make the case for armor, since I didn’t want to get gored or clawed in the process. And once I did lay my hands on animal hides, I could make all the pouches I wanted.

Whew! Decision made!

Braided cord wasn’t a great solution for tying the armor pieces together, but it’d do until I could replace the lacing with hide. I fiddled with the arrangement for a couple of hours until I found a pattern with a good balance of comfort and protection.

The largest section of mesh went on my back to protect against anything sneaking up on me. The remaining pieces looked like the four largest Hawaiian Islands, and I strung them together, with the Big Island covering my heart and the other islands circling counterclockwise around my torso.

Lacing the sides transformed the mail from a tabard into a shirt. Putting it on, I felt like one of the desert raiders in The Road Warrior.

“I dub thee Patchwork Chain Shirt, Hawaiian Style.”

And last, but certainly not least, there was the dagger. If a pot was handy and armor was protection, then a knife was life. To be able to cut, pry, wedge, and split was to be able to survive. And the dagger was beautiful--nine inches of steel set in a polished bone pommel decorated with a leaping hart on one side and hunting dogs on the other.

I walked over to the split ash tree. Some of the splintered wood looked useful, and I tested the dagger on it, being careful not to dull the blade until I realized it wasn’t dulling. The edge stayed keen no matter what I put it through.

Goosebumps rose all along my arms. Magic. It had to be.

If the Patchwork Chain Shirt, Hawaiian Style was cool (and I thought it was), then a magic dagger was how legends began.

I brought an ash stave back to the campfire and considered the dagger. I was lost in thought and only after a while realized that the otter was watching me in turn. She didn’t say or do anything though, just turned over and scratched her ear, not concerned at all with the weapon in my hands.

I could do a lot with a magic dagger, but the most important might be to give it away.