Almost was a long way from would, however. The Tamara and now this box were on his list of things to murder with extreme prejudice. He would for the moment, however, acknowledge that he wasn’t sure how to accomplish either killing so he put it aside for now.

He raised a fist toward the heavens and made a low hissing noise in his throat so that the universe would understand he wasn’t giving up his grudge, just delaying it, lest there be any confusion from this Tamara or the immortal box if they had been watching him.

There would be a reckoning! Just not today. Possibly tomorrow but Ruth didn’t think so. He only had one of the strange spell slots left at the moment, and though he had a short grasp on the concept of ‘hours’ he didn’t think it had been over four of them which meant he needed to wait around for more of them.

Waiting was terrible. It had been about a minute since he’d had the thought to wait and he was already overwhelmingly anxious. Everything in this damn place had conspired to confound him with dastardly snow-banks, elusive and nimble tasty fish, God-king Goblin Emperors, and now small furry things with ridiculously sweet looking head apparel. A brief moment of silence for the hat which was too small for him that he’d discarded. He already regretted not taking it with him. The dragon in him said it was a fine piece and deserving to be at least on the fringe of a new hoard.

Ruth crouched down and covered his head in his hands as an insidious worry started to worm its way through his head. Build a hoard! What about the old one? He had lost his hoard? Yes/No?! It had only been one day, and not even that really, but he was quite sure that the wyvern down the Waverly River made constant and numerous sneaky reconnaissances on his lair, just waiting for the day when he died. He could already imagine that smug bastard rolling around in bliss over his shiny gems and his particularly favored long bits and bobs of colored string.

Agh, the thought was infuriating! His bug collection was probably wandering off! Several dozen large species of shiny carapaced beetles that he routinely shepherded back into the middle of his lair. It would take them two days to crawl in their tiny and slow fashion to an exit or vent they were capable of squeezing through! Two days! The flood of worry for his little insectile pets filled him and caused him to moan in a low voice. What would they do when they got outside? They were too stupid to live on their own. Some species of giant bird would just drop out of the sky and carry them off into the sunset, their sad little antennae bouncing up in down in parting.

Moment of silence for the bugs that were sure to soon perish.

If they had not perished already. The worry and anxiousness fled his face as his eyes turned into mean slits. That wyvern would probably just step on them, or eat them with its smug reptilian faced smile. It would lick them a little and then swallow them without chewing, celebrating a victory beetle brunch at the thought of Ruth’s demise.

That wyvern had to go. How dare it intrude on his thoughts during the day and cause him to fill time with worry! It hadn’t even managed to provide a decent mental distraction because it felt like no time passed at all! That fucking thing was going to die.

The wyvern in question stirred uneasily from its sleep a world away, wondering if winter was coming earlier this year but being otherwise just turning over once and snorting slightly as it went back to sleep. At least that bastard dragon hadn’t made any noise lately.

↢↦

“Did he forget about his spells already?” Tamara wondered aloud. “He seemed pretty excited but now it seems like he’s slipping into some sort of madness. Is it possible that I pushed the tiny brained thing so hard its mind snapped?”

“Well, there was all that screaming when he went nutso on the bridge with those little furred creatures,” Arathan said hesitantly, not eager to acknowledge that maybe Tamara did break her toy a little.

“No,” Tamara immediately dismissed the concern leaving Arathan with a little bit of disbelief with how rapidly she had shed responsibility. “He screamed plenty before that.”

“Ah.” Hard… to argue.

“Oh good. There we go.” Tamara smiled as Ruth finally stopped rolling around on the ground like a caterpillar and seemed to be getting down to business again.

“Where did you leave him anyway?”

“Flynn’s World.” Tamara began whistling innocently right after she said it, and as expected, Arathan’s eyes got real big.

“Wooooooooow. Caw-caw-caw-caw!” Arathan just kept laughing as she looked back to the window and then finally managed, “Is that his daughter’s territory?”

“Yep.” Tamara’s eyes glinted even as they narrowed. “I figured, as long as I’m making an invasive species, I should introduce it to a nice place to grow up.”

“Hahaha, twenty elixirs of the tongue from the nether beast says you end up fighting him and his daughter, to the death, in under five years because of this.” Arathan snorted.

“Sucker bet,” Tamara smirked, eyes still narrowed dangerously. “It’s only a matter of time. I’ll just poke him until he can’t stand it anymore and tries to attack me. Then nobody can get mad. Not if I’m just defending myself, right?”

Arathan laughed her cawing laugh again.

↢↦

Completely oblivious to the vast majority of what the universe was doing, Ruth was staring intently at the river mightily resisting the urge to just use his last spell slot to see what would happen. He was fairly confident that he would learn the spell and instead of using these mysteriously alloted spell slots, he’d be using his internal mana instead. Ruth was less confident about what would happen other than that.

The weird box thing was new to him, as was the way it seemed to classify strength. He had apparently been at level zero before advancing to level one. What was the difference in strength from zero to one? Hard to say. He had only been level zero for a little while after all. He didn’t feel all that superior so it was probably safe to say that level one was meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Ruth was probably so powerless that he wouldn’t even be a good pawn in any grand schemes.

Ruth suddenly felt depressed that he couldn’t even be a pawn. Ruth felt more depressed when he remembered that his teeny tiny immaculately carved chess set was still in his hoard, and he finally possessed little digits small enough to move the pieces around. He loved his hoard so much. The wyvern’s hoard. That damn wyvern! His eyes narrowed dangerously and then…

No! Focus!

In addition to being level one, there were all these black stars denoting something. Ruth had a feeling that his next enmity would be these black stars. Everything else in his life seemed to be taking a swing at him, why not these black stars? Maybe they would know their place. Or maybe he would preemptively show them their place. His eyes narrowed further at the imagined slight of something that didn’t have a will of its own.

No, he couldn’t use his last spell slot! What if he needed to cast spells during the day! It was better to just wait and…

Ruth placed a palm on his face and made a hissing noise of frustration. This was no time to be exceedingly stupid. If he used the last spell slot on Generic Shock it would be castable using his mana. He didn’t know how many times he could cast it with his internal mana, but it would surely be greater or equal to one. There was no reason not to cast it.

Unless he should start working on other spells? He was curious about the Thunder Struck spell. No! Why would he do that if it would just be the exact thing he was avoiding now? If he used it on a spell that wouldn’t complete then he wouldn’t be able to cast the spell with the use of his own mana and he’d have to wait for however long it was until another spell slot became available.

Ruth was pretty sure that he would think himself to death if he actually had to wait that much time, however much it was, since he was already ready to punch himself in the face after this short time span.

Ruth stretched his fingers out toward the river and used Generic Shock before he could think himself out of it. Weak and thin tendrils of lightning shot out and into the water, making a small hiss and crack as the energy came in contact with the water but being otherwise unremarkable. Immediately he felt the black spot in his mind clear up as he used it. Now there were just strange empty feelings there. The river continued to burble down its path as it always did. Nothing happened.

Ruth felt incredibly insulted that for all the dangerous thoughts he’d been having the actual activity had been a whiz followed by a rather unimpressive bang.

Wait!

A fish floated up from the water about the length of his little digits. He would take it. Ruth forded into the river, completely oblivious to the box that had sprung up behind him and seemed to be watching him hike up his pants to get into the water and recover that ridiculously small fish.

It almost seemed to droop a little at the corners when Ruth let out a victory yell and held the fish above his head. The yell was a two-part victory cheer to celebrate the gathering of food and at the realization that he didn’t need to pull on his clothes. He had simply willed it and they had retreated up past his knees.

For a brief moment, the box seemed to eye the clothing with meaningful intent.

Maybe the real protagonist of this story is his clothing? The pantagonist.

Tamara and Arathan giggled.

Generic Shock learned. Ability renamed ‘Shock’.

★★ Shock: Jolts targets within line of sight with a moderate to heavy shock, killing or incapacitating small to medium creatures.

Ruth finally turned around and almost fell down into the water as the devilish box had closed in on him. It was a cunning thing. Silent and deadly. He lost interest in hissing at it though because it was telling him that he had learned the spell, and it had lost the generic title.

Ruth eagerly pointed his hands at the river even as the box began to bounce up and down excitedly in mid-air. Ruth smiled, pleased with its enthusiasm at the thought of his powerful display. Lightning snaked out into the river once more, slightly thicker and more luminous than before, and everything went dark.

↢↦

“He’s floating unconscious in the river again,” Tamara noted.

“He didn’t kill himself. He also doesn't need to be flipped over this time. That’s progress.” Arathan snorted, turning her timeless crow gaze toward a direction above the window. “He knocked out his soul form too. That poor thing doesn’t have any idea why it keeps getting zapped.”

“Maybe it was immature of me to release a creature like that into the wilds of Flynn’s world,” Tamara whispered softly with the tiniest hint of regret.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine…” Arathan was recounting the memory of Tamara sulking a little bit about how much effort she’d put into the body and incorrectly thought Tamara was actually worried about Ruth. A thought that was dispelled almost immediately.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with having a creature that stupid with my name attached to it.” Tamara narrowed her eyes, murder starting to cloud them. A reddish aura actually stirred from her body, speeding up the rise and fall of her breast, and began to inch toward the window.

Arathan cocked her head to the side, waiting for the outcome.

At last, Tamara retracted her aura, deciding to hold off on simply wiping Ruth out of existence. “Well, I suppose I don’t care what the other god’s think. If that thing annoys me it will work splendidly on Flynn and his daughter. Should it… not continue to electrocute itself.”

“What if Flynn or his daughter just decide to wipe it out?” Arathan asked.

“It belongs to me. If it dies, it dies. If he or she has anything to do with it directly? Why, I’d go have a nice little chat with them.” Tamara grinned, hoping that they’d do something so foolish.

↢↦

Mother Chaka was a positively ancient Mongeese, but was no less prolific now at her age of 40 than she had been earlier in her life. Her red-tinged fur was slightly silvered at the edges, giving her a calm and regal demeanor. Her hat was a resplendent purple velvet that spanned thrice as broad as her own shoulders. Despite her diminutive stature, the hat gave her prestige and demanded obedience in a room full of other Mongeese wearing hats. Many fine hats were in the room, but no hat was as fine as hers. No one would dare to usurp her authority that openly.

She was currently in her small guest hall, a large(for her species) room with tree stumps for seats and hewed fallen logs for tables. The walls were smoothed mud, and now and again a simple tree root system crawled or climbed up or down the wall, lending a strange natural elegance to the room.

Mother Chaka and twelve of her children which made up her personal court and retinue sat and discussed matters of their territory in soft voices, paying special respect to a different sort of creature that sat at her side. Mother Chaka was proud of them, as many of them were old enough to start enjoying the privilege of being among the oldest of their species at 20 and 25. In addition to that rather ‘impressive’ longevity they were being remarkably well-behaved in front of their guest of honor.

The Haberdasher was a scholarly looking furred fellow with wise eyes and a soft black nose. His dextrous black hands ended in nimble digits which he rubbed together every now and again as if he were testing how dirty the air was. Mother Chaka took no offense because she had long learned that this peculiar habit was just how he kept warmth in his hands. There were many things that were exceptional about the Haberdasher, and were it within her power she would keep him close at hand. The idea of him returning across the Ten Year Wood back to his home already distressed her. What if something happened to him?

For despite the rather dark circles around his eyes that made the Haberdasher look like a scarved thief, he was a treasure of the Ten Year Wood as he was the only one capable of refining small items with magical properties. Perhaps not the only one, but by far, the best.

The Haberdasher took off his small rimmed glasses from the bridge of his nose, producing a small handkerchief from a resplendent red doublet that covered him from neck to feet. He began polishing them absentmindedly as he stared at the door. “I should not have beaten your little fellow here.”

“I’m sure Trunik is fine.” Mother Chaka was also perplexed somewhat at the absence of her young sons and daughter. Trunik had apparently gotten the recluse to make her a special gift, and she had been beside herself when the Haberdasher had arrived at her barrow door and looked surprised that she wasn’t already wearing it. She had almost even been embarrassed that she wasn’t wearing it! He had told her that he had come to offer her salutations for the month of her birth and to make any adjustments to the ring that she would need. She of course, had no idea what he was talking about.

It was explained to her that the Haberdasher had given the item to Trunik and, at the time, had declined the invitation to accompany them back to Mongeese territory to present it personally. Then, after they left, he’d started to get the itch in his fingers. The itch just thinking that something he made custom for someone else may be worn and in need of special adjustments so that it fit just right.

The Haberdasher could also have explained that he had also been hungry and the Mongeese had the most delightful smoked walnuts(most of their barrow was situated under the best specimen in the wood) but decided it was an irrelevant detail. The fact they had broken out a great deal of the good wine for their matron’s celebration was also an irrelevant detail.

The Haberdasher finished rubbing the spectacles and replaced them on his face, shifting slightly so his rather bushy black-ringed tail could have the freedom to wag sedately as the warmth of the walnuts and the wine flowed through him. Despite the good time he was having, the feeling of wrongness continued to make him slightly agitated. The Ten Year Wood was quite a walk, but Trunik and his siblings moved through their life like most of their short-lived kin -- fast and violently. The fact he had actually beaten them after taking a sort of roundabout direction(didn’t want to show up too soon, that would be embarrassing) made him wonder if there wasn’t another scheme afoot.

Did the small mongeese just tell him it was a gift for his mother? Was there a different recipient? Well, the little fool would be held accountable now. His eyes narrowed slightly in delight at the thought of a family scandal appearing any moment at the door. Dinner and a show.

Just as he was having this thought the doors burst open and a smaller female appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a small cutlass belted at her hip, and the two mongeese trailing behind her with irritation told the story of how she had acquired it. She had obviously stolen the blade from one of the guards at the door before bursting in unannounced. The guard on the right’s eye was already swelling and he looked to be as mad as a hornet. He didn’t say anything, however, and it was probably because she was wearing a hat.

Fascinating creatures, Mongeese. A society where the size, shape, and story of a hat gave the wearer certain prestige. Fascinating and intriguing, because the Haberdasher would never admit that he had a hard time telling the Mongeese apart, but he did. This one, however, was known to him because he had seen her and her brothers this afternoon. She didn’t have the hat at that point.

“Kinslayer!” Malika shouted, jumping nimbly onto the table without care for her older siblings or the Matron’s birthday celebration.

Silence swept the room as ferocious looks cast across the room.

Mother Chaka stood up, her hat bobbing thematically, and stabbed the hewed log table-top with a small piece of metal that had been crudely fashioned into a fork. All the fur in the room was standing straight up at the announcement of Kinslaying. Still, there was the barest hint of hope in her voice when she asked, “where are your brothers?”

Kinslaying was a very serious crime in the Ten Year Wood. Thousands of the little Mongeese belonged to this clan, and they would throw every one of their little lives off a cliff if it meant killing someone who had killed one of them. Kinslaying in other places might refer to someone offing their own family, but in Mongeese society, this would never happen. So Kinslaying and the horrible connotation that it carried referred instead to someone who had harmed the family. It was this horrifying blood feud that made other denizens of the wood get out of the way for Mongeese. Sure, some of them might even have been able to fight the clan but…

Who would bother? Who had the time to fight such a ridiculous war? It was just easier to show them courtesy and to let them rob you from time to time.

Dinner and a show indeed. The Haberdasher reached out slowly, unnoticed, and pulled another walnut from the plate in front of him.

Mother Chaka’s ear twitched at the sounds of soft crunching to her left, but she chose to ignore it like a good host.

The Haberdasher rubbed his fingers together, exulting the feel of walnut oil and salt on his furry hands. He wondered who had done such a ridiculously stupid thing.

↢↦

Ruth floated down the river and a box floated sedately above him. Every now and again he jerked in the water as if reliving something horrible or traumatic in a dream.