His conveyance carried him west at speeds so fast that he had a hard time keeping track of where they were. He thumped his left foot a few times to the juvenile's flank, and it decelerated a bit, allowing Calf to see how far they were from the mysterious forest. The moment they passed the boundary between the wetlands and the mysterious forest, he thumped it again, holding the contact till the juvenile was now moving at a reasonable enough speed for him to do the steering.

A rope was attached to each forelimb as part of the juvenile's harness, and each of the ropes ended in a knotted extension over its neck. The knots were then fixed intertwined in the middle making for a steering rod of sorts. When Calf pushed the rod to the left, the loop of the right would tighten up, forcing the juvenile to take smaller steps towards the left, and the opposite was true for the right-hand side. With the aid of this mechanic, Calf steered his steed towards the tree he'd harvested his peculiar wood from.

Once he was within a few meters of the tree, he thumped the left flank and held contact till the juvenile stopped moving. He alighted the conveyance and stretched to rid himself of the ache between his thighs before going straight to work. He made short work of the ascent and made his way to the branch he'd previously fashioned his long spear's shaft from. He used the long spear's shaft to mark the position of the first cut before using the broadhead for the next steps. He held it at a hand's length away from the head and chiseled a hole wide enough to accept the long spear's shaft. Once the long shaft was in place, he did not waste time waiting for the regeneration to begin, opting to use a rope to hold the spear in place whilst he tended to other business.

He tended to his bow grafts, speeding up the process by working on 2 branches simultaneously while also making use of the regeneration lag to put in some arrow work. His plan was to graft segments of increasing lengths to each branch till he had a composite block of bow wood long enough to serve his needs.

He started by cutting off a length of the tip from one branch to use as the base for the first graft. Noting the flexible axis, he rotated the branch tip till its flexible axis was at a square angle to the branch's axis before reattaching it. After the tip had been grafted successfully, he measured the length of inflexible wood required for his plan, cutting the graft off at a point just over the length and carving it in preparation for the next graft.

He then rotated the composite wood till it was at a negative square angle to the branch, effectively aligning the tip with the next length of the branch. This way, he could be sure the flexible parts all bent in the same direction. He repeated the process once more and he got to the center length, which he kept inflexible for consistent sighting. He repeated the process till he had a full length of bow wood composited to each branch. Satisfied with the results, he cut off the composites and let them fall to the ground.

⯁⯁⯁

A thick fog settled over the area while he was taking a moment to gather himself. The cover was so thick it obscured most of his body from sight, making it impossible to see beyond his forearm and chest. Alarmed but ever cautious, he took measured steps along his perch and shimmied to the branch housing his long spear. He cut it off and lowered it to the ground using the rope attached to it. He could inspect it once he was out of the tree, or better yet, out of the fog.

As he gingerly made his way down, the fog thinned to a thick mist, allowing him to speed up his descent. He made it to the ground and picked up all of his woodwork parcels, tying them into bundles he could pack orderly onto the juvenile's back. The mist continued to thin till the forest's border was visible from his position. This surprised him, for he remembered having to walk a long distance to see that border.

After a closer look, he realized what was happening. As the mist retreated, so did the forest's edge, moving ever closer to his position. It took a few seconds for him to arrive at an alarming thought; would the retreating fog reclaim all the fruits of the forest along with it? Not wanting to stay long enough to find out, he jumped onto his steed and thumbed it on its right flank to start his retreat.

The forest's edge continued to dog the juvenile's tail, growing closer to them by the second. As soon as he'd cleared the dense trees, he thumbed and held contact until the juvenile reached its maximum speed. At these speeds, everything was blurred so he couldn't tell how far behind the forest's edge was now. Neither could he tell whether the mist had cleared, and he wasn't willing to feel for his woodwork artifacts to confirm they hadn't been reclaimed by the disappearing forest. They traveled for a few more minutes at this speed till they hit the Western boundary. He didn't need visual confirmation to know when they'd crossed, for their breach of the border was accompanied by multiple cues that would be hard to miss.

⯁⯁⯁

The steed's breach had been signaled by a sudden halt that catapulted Calf from his seat. His flying body breached as well, and the feeling of the veil was like a calming film over his skin. It was as if the film absorbed most of his momentum, resulting in Calf spinning head over heel in slow motion. He hit the other end of the bubble, regaining a small amount of his momentum, and tumbled over the ground upon his exit.

His wares followed in his wake, cluttering around him. A wet-looking, furred figure followed behind him and Calf jumped out of its way to avoid being steamrolled. Dusting himself off, he made his way to the new addition, wondering where his steed had gone. His question didn't remain unanswered for long though, for around the furred corpse's back lay his sleigh and just beyond that, the harness's rod.

He inspected his former steed, moving beyond the jarring changes and trying to identify the corpse. He wasn't privy to the corpse’s former identity, but this was definitely a Taur of the satyr species, its size even greater than that of the slimy old goat. He removed the sleigh from its back and disengaged the harness, prying it off the ram’s back with his long spear.

Though the huge and coiled horns, coupled with the pale, grey fur gave it the appearance of a mature ram, it lacked the pronounced knee calluses that usually came with aging and that either suggested a cushy life or a younger age. Conflicted, he went to check its teeth for more clues. The teeth were large, still to wear and all present so he could safely rule out old. They were yet to be spaced, suggesting youth and the final clue was the difference in the structure of the teeth. The center consisted of adult teeth whilst those to the edges were still deciduous, placing the ram in the mid-range of its teen years.

Satisfied at his attempt at aging the goat, he turned to his inventory, finally verifying whether they'd managed to leave the fading forest with their bounty intact. He packed the items onto his sleigh while counting and was pleased to note all was accounted for.

Moving on to the River King's message, he cut down slender branches, producing longer stilts by tying two together. With the stilts complete, he placed one along its center and lay two along the corpse's sides. He tied them to the limbs by looping rope around the branch a few times before stretching it over the torso and repeating the action on the other end. Once that was done, he flipped the corpse onto its back and secured his sleigh over its chest. He harnessed the load onto himself and headed west, to the capital.

With his make-shift coffin in tow, it took him more time than he would have liked to get to the capital. He was finally here though, and glad that this one-man open-casket procession was coming to an end. Wanting to avoid anger at his callus use of the corpse sleigh should the Taurs see this, he removed his belongings to the ground next to it and replaced the harness with a rope for his sleigh, and a longer rope for the corpse.

He approached the gazebo and went around its bounds to avoid the effort if picking up and putting down his load over the steps. He chose the northern bend, heading towards the Combat Arena in an effort to avoid any 'mishaps' by the Archery range. All were expected to be indoors if no one was participating, but one could never be too careful. He'd just about cleared the trees before the Combat Arena when he sensed lurkers encircling him. This was an ambush, and within their own borders, by their own people at that.