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My Own Best Friend 57 - No Replacement for Hooves
🕑 Added 2025-04-25 17:26:52 +0000 UTCThe rangers are surprisingly cool about giving us time to recover from the bomb gecko incident. Talla insists that I need to rest, and recover my strength, practically stuffing me with lizard stew at every opportunity.
“[That skill of yours is hard on the body,]” she explains once again. “[Think of it like its redirecting health from other parts of your body to heal injuries. You skip days worth of natural healing, but at the cost of days worth of food, water, and sleep.]”
And, of course, thanks to Talla having to pick stones out of my skin, I don't even really get the benefit of healing injuries. Mags and Vi are both pretty contrite about the whole thing, but I don’t blame them. They did their best, and what counts is that we survived, in the end.
That said, this is really boring, and a simple bedroll in a musty, bloodstained cave isn’t exactly my ideal sick bed. Talla keeps me company, but the men have been keeping busy, cleaning lizards, drying hides, and making jerky. Draga’s mending skill is actually amazing, and apparently it or some other skill lets him speed up the drying process to make rawhide.
Seeing them at work gives me an idea. One that’s been long overdue. One that starts with Nipper.
“Come on little guy, you got this,” I encourage him, giving the little worm a couple of hopeful squeezes.
He’s gotten a lot bigger, and he’s shockingly smart. He still remembers that pattern of squeezes means that I want him to produce some silk. Unfortunately, I’ve been demanding a lot lately, and he’s reluctant to give it up. Nipper coughs up a few more threads, and I give him a candle as a reward—which he promptly swallows whole.
Talla does a double take at that. “[Did you just feed that thing an entire mana candle?]”
“Uh...no?” I respond, feigning ignorance as I get back to my work.
I’ve got a small bowl of water—helpfully provided by Talla—which I’ve been using to wash the gluey substance off of Nipper’s threads before setting them aside to dry. Once dried and no longer sticky, the threads form very fine gossamer strings, even thinner than hair. Not much good on their own, but with a bit of practice I’ve figured out how to spin them together by hand into longer and stronger strands of yarn.
“[I didn’t know you could do that without a spindle,]” Talla comments as she observes me working.
“Neither did I, but necessity is the mother of invention,” I reply, sticking my tongue out of the corner of my mouth as I concentrate.
I’ve been at this for a couple of days now, between being force fed stew and taking naps. It makes me wish I really had switched classes, because I bet I could get one to make this a lot easier.
Talla furrows her brows, trying to make sense of what I just said. “[Something about you...the first word was a negative I think?]” she hedges. “[Then the word for mother? Did your mother teach you?]”
I shake my head. “No, sorry. That was a proverb.”
She sighs in frustration. “[I asked you to stop using those—it’s confusing enough without you twisting the meaning of your words.]”
“My bad,” I apologize, before quickly correcting myself. “I mean—sorry.”
Talla rolls her eyes, but she knows that one by heart already. While she doesn’t have the same way to cheat that I do, her efforts to learn my language are bolstered by a cheat of her own. Once she figures out what a word means, she never forgets it. Her [Recall Knowledge] skill gives her a perfect memory, and while it sometimes takes her a second to sort through her vast stores of reference material, that’s apparently because she hasn’t actually read all of the stuff she recalls.
All she has to do is quickly skim through a book once and she can look up whatever she needs from it, whenever she wants. Talla has spent her life consuming entire libraries that way. It’s honestly kind of impressive.
She’s made a lot more progress learning my language than I have on hers, but we’re both working on it.
Anyway, I’ve got lots of Nipper-silk yarn now, but I’m a little stuck on the next step. I don’t know how to knit, crochet, or weave—and I’m pretty sure all of those require some kind of special tool. I can braid the yarn into sturdier ropes, but what I want is cloth.
Thankfully, Talla comes to my rescue when she realizes what I’m trying to do—or rather, she brings my rescuer to me.
“[Weaving?]” Draga asks incredulously as he observes me fussing over my hard-earned pile of thread and failed attempts to turn it into something more useful. “[Eh, we haven’t got a loom handy, but give me a moment...]”
He runs off outside before returning with one of the smaller drying racks they’ve been using for the lizard hides.
“[Here. It’s not perfect, but I think it will work.]”
I stare blankly at the wooden frame, and after a moment, he blinks and takes a seat next to me.
“[I’ll show you...]”
What follows is the rather surreal experience of having a seven foot tall muscular goat man spend a couple of hours teaching me how to weave, from dressing the makeshift loom with threads to serve as the warp, to carefully guiding the weft over and under the threads. He even finds me a needle to help me pick my way through the stretched threads. Talla even ends up finding me a comb that she normally uses to straighten her fur, which I can use to push the woven threads together to form a smoother fabric.
With that, I’ve got pretty much my entire day figured out. Weave threads, eat stew, take a Talla-mandated nap, get back to weaving. I make a lot of mistakes, and Draga has to rescue my nearly botched attempts a few times, but through the power of dedication, determination, and sheer boredom, I am now the owner of a single tiny bolt of Nipper-silk cloth.
Well, maybe “bolt” is a bit too ambitious. A little sheet. It’s rough, prone to catching, and kind of flimsy, but it’s mine.
“Okay, yeah, I was never going to figure that out on my own,” Maggie admits. “But good job, I guess. Now what?”
“Now, I just need to figure out how to put it all together,” I respond cryptically.
Despite Talla’s insistence that I need to sleep, I stay up all night working on my little project. After hours of careful folding, sewing, as little cutting as I can get away with, and a whole lot of pricked fingers, it’s done.
“I have made...socks!” I declare triumphantly, holding up two simple cloth tubes, each sewn shut on one end.
They’re very simple, and I forgot to account for the whole bending part, so they bunch up awkwardly at my ankles, but at long last I have something to protect my poor abused feet. They’re barely an improvement on the footwraps if I’m being honest, but I don’t care. I worked hard on them.
Draga nods appreciatively at my work. “[Very resourceful. I had wondered how you could stand walking around on those odd fleshy stumps of yours without any hooves.]”
“[They barely offer any protection,]” Saban scoffs. I’m about to stick out my tongue at the naysayer when he surprises me by offering a pair of stiff elliptical pieces of hide. “[Here, line the bottom with these. You can ask Draga if you need help securing them.]”
My eyes widen as I accept the gift—a pair of soles. Just the thing to upgrade these socks to slippers. I jump to my feet and hug the surly goat man.
“Saban, this may be the nicest thing anybody has ever given me.”
He grimaces and holds his arms out awkwardly, looking to Talla for help. “[What is she saying?]”
“[That it’s a nice gift—the nicest, apparently?]”
“[That’s kind of sad,]” he replies. “[They’re no replacement for hooves.]”
Draga laughs and slaps his companion on the shoulder. “[Just hug the girl, already. You’re making an ass of yourself.]”
Saban settles for awkwardly patting me on the head, which I guess I’ll take even if it’s a little condescending.
With some help from Draga, I manage to get the soles secured to the bottom of my brand new slippers and finally have some actual footwear. The rawhide doesn’t offer a lot of protection, but it’s still an enormous step up from going barefoot all the time. I’m so pleased with them that not even Talla’s next words can dampen my mood.
“[It’s going to be hard to find replacements for those. Foot-gloves aren’t exactly standard clothing.]”
Nuts! On some level I was still thinking that once we got back to civilization I’d be able to get some real shoes, but Fa’aun don’t wear them, do they? Oh well, I’ll live. These shoes will last forever, and if they start to fall apart I can get Draga to fix them.
“[I take it you’re feeling better then, Allie?]” Draga asks while I’m admiring my new footwear.
“[She’s in better shape than we found her, at least,]” Talla answers for me. “[But she’s still only tier one.]”
“[We’ve seen what she can do, Talla,]” he retorts. “[And we can only put things off for so long. I think it’s time.]”
I freeze, glancing at the imposing double doors leading into the place I spent so long trying to escape with trepidation. I meet Talla’s gaze, and she gives me an apologetic smile.
“[I can’t honestly disagree,]” she says with a heavy sigh. “[But we should take things very slow. Give Allie more time to get used to working with us in a group. A mistake like the embergaze den isn’t going to fly against a demon like the one she described.]”
“[Agreed,]” Draga confirms with a nod. “[Take all the time you need to prepare, then—we’re starting the delve tomorrow.]”
*
That night, Talla takes me outside for another private chat beneath the—well, not stars. The ring is so bright that you can’t actually see any, but the night sky never quite goes all the way dark, so it’s still pretty.
“[It’s a bit of a shame that you ended up spending all that time I bought for you recovering,]” she sighs.
“Sorry,” I grumble. Vi’s been particularly quiet since the incident, and even though the rangers have taken it in stride, I think she and Maggie are still beating themselves up about it.
“[It’s not your fault—don’t worry about it,]” Talla says. “[How are...um...the others?]”
“Violet is sulking,” I answer. “Maggie is Maggie.”
“Damn straight!” Maggie responds, without a hint of irony.
Talla nods slowly. “[I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. That Vee is the one responsible for you breaking formation?]”
“Vi,” I correct her. “In your language, try...V’a’i. But yes.”
“[That one is tricky, but I’ll keep working on it,]” she sighs. “[Maggie is easier. She’s the one that blew up the cave?]”
“Yes. Maggie uses magic.”
“[Is it a coincidence that her name is so similar to your word for magic?]”
“Yes,” Mags insists.
I shake my head and laugh. “No.”
“You bitch! Stop slandering me!”
“[I see,]” Talla says, smiling awkwardly. “[I wish I was strong enough to use the spell that lets me see them more often. I don’t even know how you keep that translation spell of yours going.]”
“Me either,” I say, shrugging. “I think maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.”
Talla frowns for a moment, visibly trying to parse what I just said, then frowns deeper. “[Magical strain isn’t something you ‘get used to,’ Allie.]”
“Maybe it’s spread out?” I suggest. “It impacts us less because there’s more of us.”
She shakes her head, unsatisfied. “[I hope so, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it. Speaking of which...]”
Her hands fidget awkwardly in her lap, and she casts an anxious glance at the mouth of the cave.
“[I’ve given some thought to your classes, Allie, and there aren’t a lot of great options,]” she admits. “[If we had the time, I’d want to fuse your guardian and traveler classes. That combination has the best potential for escape or rescue—which are the same thing in your case.]”
“But...?”
“[But we don’t. In fact, it might be best to just rush you to tier two with whatever you can manage to level up first. We’re low on time and I am worried about that invisible demon of yours.]”
At this rate, that will be [Pathfinder] and [Unified Wanderers], the same two classes I have on at this very moment. I take a look at my attributes for what feels like the first time in a while.
[Allison: Tier 1 Human]
[Class Slot 1: Tier 1 [Unified Wanderers]** - Level 9/10
[Class Slot 2: Tier 1 [Pathfinder]** - Level 6/10
[Attributes]
Power: 2
Resilience: 30
Awareness: 24
Ego: 30
Will: 24
[Skills]
Locus of Thought
The Beaten Path (Foraging)
Inner Compass
Stretch Supplies
It’s a little disheartening to look at them knowing that the rangers all have numbers in excess of two hundred, though Talla assures me that we’re doing just fine. Our “core” class, as Talla calls it, has stubbornly refused to budge since it hit level nine, and I’m a little worried about vague escape plans that rely on what should essentially just shape up to be a wilderness survival class.
Are we really going to just strike out on our own after finally finding other people? I don’t know what this mysterious church has in store for me, but can it really be worse than trying to survive by ourselves in an alien wilderness?
Unfortunately, while my memories unhelpfully fail to provide any specifics, my vague knowledge of history suggests that yes it absolutely can.
“So what do we do?” I ask, once more feeling a bit helpless.
“[You gained that class after leaving the convergence point, right?]” Talla asks, waiting for me to nod in confirmation before continuing. “[Then what we’ll do is have you lead the dungeon survey. Convergence points are very effective at leveling exploration classes. Hopefully you can master it and your core class in time and then...we’ll just have to see.]”
That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, but I can’t think of a better plan.
“Thanks, Talla.”
“[Don’t thank me yet,]” she insists. “[We still have to survive tomorrow.]”
Comments
Kennyevilmonkey
Imagine not having hooves... Poor girl, might as well be considered disabled. When they eventually get to the city, will she get a handicap pass? Does Alli get priority parking for being hoofless?
Clara
Hoofless behavior
