Guardian's Farm 7

“And, that’s the last seed,” I said while I finished planting the last seed in my small vegetable garden, marking the end of my efforts. I stretched, feeling the warm exhaustion of my muscles.

It took three days for me to turn the half acre of wild land into a usable bit of plot, requiring not only a dozen passes with the plow, but two passes with a hoe. Even then, it was only possible thanks to my strength. Without that, it would have taken me weeks to work the earth properly.

I gazed over the neat rows of freshly planted seeds. A sense of satisfaction welled up inside me, a different kind of accomplishment than slaying a beast or saving a town. For once, there was no urgency pushing my actions, only a calm accomplishment.

Of course, my physical strength, gained through decades of adventuring, was the only reason I was able to finish cultivating the wild land in three short days, but that didn’t make the work done any less useful.

Now that my little garden was set, it was time to explore the land properly. The southern region was supposed to be safe from various troubles, but that didn’t mean exploring the land was a bad idea. I looked at the mountains that loomed over my new home, curious if they were holding any secrets.

I didn’t prepare a lot. Just my staff, an empty sack, and a waterskin, more than enough for a short exploration.

The mountain had no roads, and any surface that wasn’t covered with vegetation was steep and rough. But, when not weighed down by a bulky set of armor, I found it easy to climb the mountain. I moved with a practiced ease, enjoying the calm of the forest.

There was something special about losing myself in the wilderness, feeling my concerns fade away as I focused on the present. The beautiful and refreshing mountain air, untouched environment, and, most importantly, freedom…

 I climbed the mountain leisurely, listening to the chatter of smaller creatures. I didn’t encounter anything large enough to be called dangerous, but the signs were there. Larger footprints, broken branches, dislocated bushes.

I continued to move, memorizing the locations of the footprints, both as a reminder to avoid them, and to seek them as a food source if necessary, but I was more interested in the wild herbs and roots that would pair well with meat dishes.

Speaking of which, I needed to set up a small pottery wheel to make some proper pots for cooking, to add some variance before I got bored of roasted meat.

However, before I could do so, I heard a pained cry. Curious, I moved forward, careful to stay hidden — more due to force of habit than anything else — only to spot a young man. Late teens, I decided. He looked like an ordinary farmer. Brown hair, tanned skin, calloused hands… He had a sling with him, but the large basket hanging next to him marked him more of a gatherer than a hunter.

Right now, he was neither hunting nor gathering. Instead, he was holding a thick stick, repeatedly stabbing the air. His movements were deliberate and passionate, but not exactly skilled.

I couldn’t help but smile ruefully. Lighten his hair color and add a foot of height, and it was like looking back in time. He was trying to learn how to use a weapon, and the location he chose suggested that it wasn’t supported by his family.

It wasn’t a surprise. The war, particularly the last few years of it, hadn’t been kind to anyone brave enough to join the fray. I had no doubt that some people from his village had chosen to leave, hoping to be heroes, only to disappear forever.

I eased behind a large oak, observing him from a distance as he practiced.

For a fleeting second, I was tempted to show myself, but I decided against it. Even if the young man was willing to talk with the weird old man who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, I didn’t feel like talking to him. I wasn’t in the mood to handle his enthusiasm and wild dreams.

The questions about the war would be even worse. Shaking off the thoughts, I sneaked away to continue my exploration, albeit with a newfound awareness. The presence of the young hunter meant that the village operated in the mountains more than I had expected.

I would need to be cautious, ensuring that I didn’t mix with them too much. I was not in the mood for a visitor. At least, not yet.

I sneaked away, exploring the mountain. As I climbed higher, I could see the signs of human presence getting even rarer, while the markers of the dangerous beasts became more common. But, since the risk was still negligible by my standards, I continued to climb, enjoying the breathtaking view, untouched by the Blight.

However, as much as I wanted to spend all day in the wilderness, I could not. Not if I wanted to start working on the rest of my land. It was too late into the spring for the wheat to grow, but I might still grow some hardier crops like carrots and turnips.

Not to mention, I still needed to build a shelter.

When I reached my garden, a surprise was waiting for me. Well, two surprises. One of the surprises was a large boar, trying to step into my garden, which would have been trouble. Boars were the worst pest for a farmer. They are gluttonous enough to eat almost anything, which is a dangerous pairing with their sense of smell, strong enough to locate the buried seeds. And, with their size, just walking through a farm was enough to destroy crops.

Those would have been sufficiently terrible. Then, there was the fact that they were quick to anger, and devastating when attacking. They killed a shocking amount of farmers every year.

But, the potential threat of the boar against me wasn’t the reason I ran in that direction. No, that was about the second surprise. The young wolf I had fed was there as well, standing in front of the boar despite a deep bleeding wound at the side, growling in an attempt to threaten the angry boar.

He was trying to defend my farm. What a peculiar little beast.

“Alright,” I said while I covered the rest of the distance, intersecting myself between the wolf and the boar, carrying only a staff as a weapon, feeling nostalgic. How many times had I stood between danger and a friend just like that, fulfilling my job as a guardian?

Admittedly, often the threat was more substantial than a boar. Before I could do anything, the boar charged. I planned to hit him hard enough to keep him away, but as I sidestepped, instincts took over. Warm energy passed to my staff from my hand, enhancing the blow more than I had been preparing as it hit the boar, triggering a squeal of pain that had been interrupted prematurely.

I frowned even as I looked at the dead boar, disappointed. It wasn’t exactly the final result that annoyed me, as a boar was a good target for a hunt, enough to keep me fed for a few weeks even if I shared it with my unexpected lupine defender.

What annoyed me was the unintentional nature of the killing blow. “I got too used to fighting in the arena,” I decided. For the last two years, I was fighting exclusively in official duels, which happened under magical protective measures, preventing deadly blows, which were compounded by the thick armor that my opponents wore.

I couldn’t help but feel the chill of fear. What I have just done could have easily happened in a spar, or a bar fight where I was trying to hold back. I swallowed in fear even as I turned to the poor wolf that was still injured, blood dripping from its wound, staining the ground.

“Come here, we need to tend to that wound first,” I said. The wolf looked hesitant. “Then, we will eat. You deserve some payment for bravely defending my farm,” I added even as I went to my small storage shed, pulling some needles and thread, and some rubbing alcohol.

I might not be a fully-fledged healer, but no one survived two decades in the field without learning how to deal with open wounds.

“This is going to hurt. Be a good boy, and don’t move,” I warned the wolf. Though, I couldn’t help but feel amused at his tightening expression, realizing that he was even smarter than I had first given him credit for.

Too bad I didn’t have anything to suppress his pain. “How about I give you a job,” I offered, then started working on the wound, distracting the beast. He whimpered. “I need a guard for my farm, and I’ll pay you with food, cooked to your desire.”

This time, his whimper was hopeful. Understandable, as his famished state showed that he was having trouble hunting, which made his actions — both by paying me back with the rabbit he managed to hunt, and risking his life to defend my farm — even more poignant.

He was clearly too smart to be called a pet, but I wouldn’t say no to a companion, especially one that looked as alone as I was. “How about we give you a name. How about Killer?” I asked, only to earn a protesting growl. “Joking,” I said as I chuckled. “How about Felix? Echo? Moon?”

I deliberately offered absurd names, which was a good distraction from the pain of the needle. That went on for a while, until I offered Sage, which earned a calm whimper instead of a growl of protest. “You’re a smart boy. Fitting,” I said even as I checked the wound for the last time. “Sage it is. Now, sit down and rest while I prepare your victory dinner.”

I worked on the boar carefully. It might have been an unintentional victim, but that didn’t make it any less valuable. It had enough meat to keep me and my new companion fed for a while, and the bones would make for a good stock for stews and other meals. And, the hide would fetch a good price in the market.

One of the legs, I roasted, while the rest, I carefully prepared to be smoked and dried, turning into travel rations in case I decided to explore the mountains more.

But first, I had a house to build…