Chapter 6

I told Thrush I had the rest of the day ahead of me. There were things I needed to do. I had to harvest the rest of the squash since the snow kept piling up. Harvest anything else I’d forgotten. I wanted to keep splitting the oak I felled and stack some more logs for winter fires. I knew it was enough to fill my day from morning to light’s end. Thrush’s only concern was if we’d smoke more fish at the end of the day. I’d promised him I would.

I have no idea what to do with him. Do I invite him to spend the night in the cottage? No. He’s probably got a home somewhere near. Has to. What if he doesn’t though?

His answers were so vague. Either that, or they were meant to be precisely true. He’s an odd fellow so it’s hard to tell. He seems to be ok around the likes of me. I’m alright around the likes of him. I guess there’s nothing to do but to see where things go. He might stick around for a while for smoked fish like he’d said. He might just as easily leave at any moment. I need to be careful. I just don’t want to insult him and get myself eaten.

I was running out of barrels. I’d planted and harvested nearly twice as much food as any of the rest of the years I’d been here. The squash were fine to stack no more than three high along the walls of the cellar. Any higher, and they would bruise, rot, and collapse. Even still, I would have to check on them every once in a while and eat any that were starting to go bad. I wanted to go through as many green vegetables as possible first. A little bit of cabbage, a bunch of cardoons, some zucchini.

I had left Thrush in my cottage to his own devices, telling him he was welcome to whatever he’d like. After my first round of harvesting, I couldn’t find him.

“Thrush?” I called out.

No answer came, and I divined from fresh paw prints that he probably headed down to the sea.

I’m not going to be surprised if I came back to a pile of fish.

Fish was all good and well, but I was worried about eating it day in, day out. I could just leave it all for Thrush, right? The only problem was that once it got much colder, I would need the stove at full blast to really keep warm. I was getting ahead of myself, though. There’s no telling how long Thrush would stay in my neck of the woods.

I spent another hour carefully digging through the snow for any more vegetables I’d missed. The snow had slowly come to an end, and a clear sky was breathed upon the world.

Might see a few warmed days that’ll melt our first snow. Might be a good chance to forage for some wild nuts. Might even trek to where the walnuts grow for a really good winter hibernation. Might take a few days. Maybe Thrush would want to join me. Might be able to double what I could bring back on my own.

The next thing’s first. I grabbed my forester axe, threw it onto a shoulder, then headed off to the giant oak.

Its form was easy to spy beneath the snow.

“Hey old man,” I said and patted it. “Laying down for a bit, I see. You’ve got your coat of snow. I wonder about the life you lived. The creature you housed in your boughs and in your wood. What you’ve seen in the sky and soil.”

I knew talking to the trees was a bit silly, but I always did and it felt nice. I felt like my bond with the woods was strengthened each time.

When I was good and ready, I thanked the tree, then effortlessly split a good section off. With a single swing, I clipped the trunk. The bit of my axe only breezed through a mere inch of the wood, but the entire thing sliced cleanly through without so much as a sigh. The massive piece of trunk rolled away and I pushed it the rest of the way over. Then I gently let the axe fall through the slice of trunk, splitting the wood, stopping only when I’d chopped enough. I'd be spending the rest of daylight taking dozens of trips to bring the wood to the pile right behind my cottage.

My first trip was to return my axe to my bedside, and prepare some squash for the evening. Squash was easy to prepare. Cut. Core. Bake. I added two more logs to the stove and set the squash halves on a cast iron pot, then put the whole thing to one side, away from the fire.

Wish I had a stove grate. I’m really going to have to see if I can fix it.

During my next trip to transport firewood, I thought about Thrush. Still hadn’t seen him about, and I wondered if I’d ever see him again. Then I began to grow even more curious.

Does he get system screens like everyone else? Is he currently on a quest? Does he get rewards? Does he have a god assigned to a quest path? Do Fable stones work on beasts like Thrush? From what he’s said, he’s quite powerful. More powerful than a lot of the adventurers I used to hear about when I lived among people.

I resolved not to ask Thrush about any of that stuff. It was all behind me. I’d had enough of quests and getting sucked into the system paths.

By the time it was starting to get dark, I was making my last trip back. My arms were killing me and I was looking forward to some squash and fish. Thrush wasn’t around, but I put some fish to smoke over smoldering coals and chopped wood logs. I took both squash halves out and set the whole cast iron pot on the table. I would only eat half, and leave the other for Thrush. Then I set some water to boil in another iron pot. I threw in some roasted chicory root and the smell of the tea suffused the cottage.

The aroma was rich, as though spring fields had been plowed beneath fields of overcrowded fresh flowers. There were aromas that reminded me of sweet soot and roasting grains. The aroma was enough to satisfy me, but yes, I couldn’t wait to have some. In all honesty, I was hoping that I could share some with Thrush.

In my own company, I took a wooden spoon to my squash. The squash was a bit cheese-like in flavor, but creamy and nutty all at once. I had a different favorite squash every season for whatever reason, and I think this one was going to be my favorite this winter.

I heard the crunching of something approaching through the snow. The pace was slow and deliberate. It was too loud to belong to a deer or bear. I moved over to the bed and sat on the edge with my axe beside me, leaned against the wall. The door had been left open.

Thrush’s form filled the doorway, up to about halfway. His eyes sent a shiver down my spine. He paused and smiled, showing fangs.

“Hawkin,” he said.

“Thrush,” I said.

“I still scare you.”

“I wouldn’t say I'm scared. You unsettle me a little bit.”

“You fear me. I sense it.”

“I’ve got squash for you. I’m brewing tea, and smoking the small fish you brought me yesterday.”

“I know.”

“Of course. I’m sure every mouse and bear can smell it for miles.”

“I would be surprised if there were any bears or mice so near,” Thrush said, still standing in the doorway.

“Come in, my friend,” I said, gesturing for him to take a seat at the table. “I have squash for you and I’ll pour you some tea.”

Thrush climbed onto the chair and made himself comfortable. He hooked a claw over the edge of the pot on the table and it scraped against the wood as he dragged it closer to him. His snub nose twitched when he smelled the squash.

“You cook these things too?” he said.

“Softens them. They’re delicious.”

He put the whole half in his mouth and chewed for a few moments. His cheeks filled with the food and his eyes throbbed out of sync as he ate and gazed into the light of the stove. I could swear for a moment that the color of his eyes were different from the last I saw him. I would have even gone so far as to say his fur was different too, in both texture and color. His ears seemed longer by an inch or two.

I poured each of us a cup of hot, roasted chicory tea. I gave Thrush the beaten copper mug, and used a small wooden bowl for myself. Thrush gulped down the tea.

“How was your day?” I said.

“Did you know Hawkin, that there are three fat men in these woods, and they’re coming this way?”