Having eaten his fill of meat from the cow, Badax curled up atop a bed of dry leaves, but struggled to fall asleep. It was too quiet out here, with nothing but the sounds of birds and wild animals for company, and Badax was surprised to find that he missed his small bed and his small room. Hell, he even missed the horrid red blanket that hung from the door. It’d been a cramped and shitty space, but it’d been his, and now that it was gone, the minotaur felt a surprisingly strong affection for it.

Weird.

Urt and Pansy, however, seemed to have no such issues. They both snored happily at the foot of the fire, and Badax decided that if he couldn’t sleep he might as well sit up and make sure the damn thing didn’t go out.

The moon was high above his head, and the minotaur had no idea how much longer night would last up here above ground. Back in the lair, time was announced by the sorcerous clocks or the goblin patrols, but of course there were no such things out here. Instead, he’d have to judge the hour by the color of the sky…which meant he wouldn’t have any idea of what time it was until the sun came up.

He looked at the meager pile of firewood they’d collected before calling it a night, and decided that they could probably use more. That seemed to be a universal truth of fires. Picking up one of the remaining cow shanks to munch on while he went and collected some, Badax headed out into the trees and found a couple that looked thin enough to break without much effort.

Just before he wrapped his hands around the first trunk and snapped it, though, Badax heard the two unmistakable things that meant a pair of idiots were clomping their way through the branches: crashing footsteps and whisper-yelling.

“Damn it, Jethro! I done already told you that there ain’t nothin’ out here. Now let’s turn around and head back to town before my Opal starts gettin’ worried. She’ll pull on that long, dark hair of hers and quibble her bottom lip like she’s about to cry. You wanna be responsible for that? Lissen here, was some wolves as got yer Bessie, I reckon, and while that’s a bit of bad luck, it ain’t worth pullin’ a happily married man away from his bed at night after a hard day’s work.”

“Hush, Cletus! I done already told you that I smelt a fire out near here, and I ain’t aware of no wolves that start fires. Other than that werewolf circus troupe that come by for midsummer, o’course, but they ain’t proper wolves so they don’t count. ‘Sides, they only start fires when they’re men, so they double don’t count! Now you shuddup and lissen to me, we’ve got us a pack of cattle rustlers somewhere out here, or my name ain’t Jethro Jebediah Herbadien Middleton Bandersnitch the fourth!”

Heck of a mouthful, Badax thought. Do all humans have such long names? Poor creatures. Maybe that’s why they all love to talk so much, their names alone are almost a full sentence.

The voices drew closer, and Badax stayed in place to greet them. Big and broad as he was, hiding wasn’t really an option, and would have probably just increased the chances of a fatal – for them – misunderstanding.

While he waited, Badax took another bite of the cow’s leg. He missed the salt and pepper that the Mistress’ cooks would have added to it, but the meat itself had a nice, fresh flavor that he enjoyed quite a bit.

Armed with an axe and a pitchfork, respectively, the two humans entered the clearing and stopped at the sight of Badax. They were clearly men used to hard, dirty work, as their clothes were covered in mud and Badax saw the wiry muscles on their forearms flex as they tightened their grips on their makeshift weapons.

One of them, who had a long, thin beard that almost reached his waist, turned to his companion, and said, “Jethro, tell me honest now, did you mix yerself up one of them damn mushroom-juice canteens today?”

“No, why?” asked the second man. He was taller than his companion and clean shaven. Both men reeked something fierce and Badax wrinkled his nose at the stench.

“Cuz I stole a drink from it a bit earlier,” Cletus said. “And I was wondering if that’s the reason I’m lookin’ at a goddamn minotaur out here in the middle of the woods. Reckon I must be helyoosaytin’ or summat.”

“It’s hell you sin ate then’,” Jethro crowed. “Don’t you know anything, Cletus Remdiggen?”

Badax felt a surge of frustration, and he took a step forward.

“Actually, the word you’re both looking for is hallucinating. And that’s not what’s happening here.”

“Sumbitch! The minotaur can talk!”

Growling, Badax resisted the urge to kill them both with the cow’s shank, and held it out to offer them a bite. He didn’t know if humans had such customs, but it was a courtesy he would have extended to any other minotaurs he came across, so it felt fitting.

“I’m afraid that it was our fire you smelled,” Badax said with what he hoped was a smile. “My friends and I are strangers traveling through these lands. Who’s this Bessie you’re both looking for? Perhaps we can help you—”

He was interrupted by a wail of agony coming from Jethro, who was pointing at the meat in Badax’ hand with an abject look of horror painted across his homely features. Once again, the minotaur felt words flickering throughout his skull without invitation.

The hick howled as if he was about to be sick.

“I’d recognize that leg anywhere!” Jethro howled. “That’s my Bessie you’ve got there! Murderer! Cattle rustler!”

Lunging forward, Jethro stabbed at Badax with his pitchfork, and the minotaur deftly stepped aside so that it skewered empty air. Cold, cruel understanding filled him, and Badax realized that the reason the cows back in the field were all so docile was that they were livestock. Farm animals, just like all the minions and other horrors the Mistress had once kept in the bottom floors of the lair.

Well, shit. This wasn’t good. Killing the men wouldn’t be difficult – humans were such frail, snappable things – but Badax didn’t want to go and start escalating the situation any further. He’d made the mistake, and the man who so clearly loved his cow didn’t deserve to die for it.

“Just a moment,” Badax said as he caught Jethro’s second strike. “I’m sorry! My companions and I didn’t realize that the cow belonged to you. We were just hungry after a long day’s travels. It was our error.”

This prompted both men to lower their weapons, though Badax couldn’t help but notice that the second man hadn’t really made any efforts to strike a blow of his own. Human though he might be, it seemed that Cletus had at least some semblance of self-preservation.

“You say you dinnit know it was my cow?” Jethro asked, flashing a smile that was missing a handful of teeth. “Well, that’s a dif’rent story, ain’t it, Cletus?”

His companion nodded. “Reckon that means you owe my friend here some reconstitutin’.”

“Restitution,” Badax gently corrected, not wanting to hear any other mangled attempts at language from the two men that night. “And that’s fine, I have some gemstones here that I can use to pay you for the value of the cow.”

Opening the bag he’d gotten from Perrin, Badax reached inside and scooped out a big handful of the gems. They glinted in the moonlight as Badax held out his hand.

“How about this many. Is it enough?”

Jethro’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open, “Damn! Ain’t no cow in the world worth –“

Cletus cut him off with a slap to the side of the head. “I figure that’ll be enough if you toss another two or three in, Mister Minotaur.”

Badax did so, and the men’s moods improved considerably. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like to Badax, since they started whooping and slapping each other on the back.

[Conflict resolved peacefully! You have earned 50 experience! New method of interacting unlocked! 450 bonus experience awarded!]

[Level up! You are now XLevel 34!]

[Strength +6]

[Dexterity + 1]

[Intelligence +1]

[Speed +1]

[Spirit +1]

Badax was startled by the surge in experience. Who would have thought you could level up by not killing things? Not him.

“So, what brings a fella like you out to this place?” Jethro asked, having apparently decided that Badax was now a close friend, or at least someone worth talking to.

Badax explained the story as quickly as he could, and both men whistled at the end.

“Spellcasters are a tough bunch,” Cletus said. “Lucky you got out alive, I tell you hwhat. But hey, did you say yer a Bard? Can you play us a tune? Somethin’ to lift our spirits after this gruelin’ night?”

Badax shook his head.

“Sorry, I don’t have an instrument,” he said. “I…broke my guitar. That’s why we’re heading to Seahorne, so that I can buy a replacement.”

“Well, it ain’t no guitar, but if you’re interested, I’ve got an old banjo you might be able to get some use out of,” Jethro said. “Lemme just run back to town and I’ll bring it by in the mornin’.”

They exchanged friendly farewells, and Badax returned to his companions with a handful of lumber and excitement in his heart. Bessie’s leg, on the other hand, had been buried in a shallow grave near where he’d harvested the wood.

Still, the minotaur chowed down on another piece of beef before drifting off to sleep. There was no point in wasting perfectly good food, was there?

True to their word, the men returned the next morning, and Jethro gave Badax a scratched and dented old banjo that looked like it’d seen better days. At the minotaur’s request, Jethro demonstrated a few chords, and then it was Badax’ turn to give it a try.

Extra wary of his great strength, the minotaur strummed the instrument a few times, and heard a twanging sound in the air that brought a smile to his face. It was no guitar, but it was close enough for now.

A notification popped up in front of him.

[You have equipped Jethro’s old banjo!]

[New Skill Learned: Bluegrass Ditty!]

[The following skills can now be used: Ballad of Bloodlust, Powerchord!]

Well now, that was something special, and all it’d cost him, Badax thought, was a few worthless gemstones.

In the years and decades to come, the farmers of Oxtail Valley started calling a sudden windfall after a loss of personal property “Bessie’s Bounty.”

The phrase was coined by Jethro Jebediah Herbadien Middleton Bandersnitch The Fourth, who became the wealthiest man anyone in town had ever seen after a chance encounter with a minotaur after losing his prized cow of the same name.