(Eli's POV)
The next morning brought wind. Dry, biting wind that pushed clouds across the sky and rattled the patched boards on the barn. It wasn't snowing, not yet, but the air smelled like frost.
I woke early—earlier than usual. Couldn't sleep. Wisp was already outside, tail wagging as he sniffed around the owlbear's pen. The owlbear—still unnamed—lifted its head slightly at my approach but didn't rise. It blinked slowly and let out a low huff, then flopped back down.
"Lazy thing," I muttered. "You'll fit in just fine."
I tossed in a few scraps of cooked rabbit—caught in a snare line I'd set by the creek two days earlier. Wisp had flushed the rabbit out. He barked once when it ran, blinked after it, and reappeared with a mouthful of fur. I'd cleaned and cooked it myself the same night.
The owlbear dragged itself forward and ate. Wisp blinked beside it and tried to steal a piece. A guttural growl shut that idea down fast.
"Lesson learned, huh?" I said as Wisp blinked back to my feet, ears low.
We spent the morning reinforcing the pen. Alina hammered in planks while I dug a second post line. The owlbear watched us the whole time, barely moving except to shift toward the sun. It didn't look strong enough to break out yet—but someday it would be.
That was a problem for future Eli.
Around midday, I heard it: clinking metal. Wagon wheels crunching gravel. A voice swearing loudly in Reikspiel.
I ran up to the ridge just north of the house, sword in hand, and saw the source: a single, rickety wagon pulled by two shaggy mules. One man drove—middle-aged, broad, and wrapped in mismatched armor. His wagon was stacked with crates and barrels and covered in a threadbare canvas.
"Trader!" I shouted, raising a hand.
He stopped, eyes narrowing. "You live here?"
"For now."
He squinted at the burned barn, the patched fences, the crude pen, and me—shirtless and covered in dirt with a sword on my hip and a blink dog sitting beside me.
"Well, I'll be damned. Brave or stupid, can't tell which."
"Bit of both."
His name was Brahn. Said he dealt in odds and ends—whatever he could move from road to road without attracting too much attention.
"Got food stores. Tools. Salt. Rope. Blankets. Small ironworks. Some seeds—barley, turnips, bitterleaf. A couple of animals, depending on what you're after. But I don't part with nothing unless there's coin in hand."
"I've got some," I said, and went back inside.
I grabbed the satchel I'd taken off one of the dead beastmen. I hadn't looked too closely at it until now. I upended it onto the table.
Six gold crowns. Nine silver shillings. At least forty or fifty brass pennies.
Enough to live off for a year if I were careful. Maybe a month if I wasn't.
Alina's eyes widened. "You sure you want to show him all of that?"
"He'll smell it if I don't."
Back outside, Brahn was feeding one of his mules a turnip.
"I've got coin," I said. "But I'm not looking to get robbed."
Brahn snorted. "I'm not a thief. I just like making profit sound like honesty."
"I need nails, feed, rope, seed, and a milk goat. If you've got blankets or a whetstone, I'll take those too."
"That's a hell of a list," he muttered. "Goat's a milker. Stubborn thing, but strong. Got two bags of barley, one of turnip seed, fifty nails, rope, and a whetstone. Blankets'll cost you extra."
"How much for all of it?"
Brahn stroked his chin theatrically. "Three crowns."
I laughed. "Two. And I want a second coil of rope."
"One rope, two and a half."
"Two crowns, both ropes, and throw in the whetstone for goodwill."
Brahn stared. I held his gaze.
Finally, he grunted. "You drive a hard bargain, farm boy. Done."
The exchange was quick. I paid him the two crowns, set aside a few silver and brass coins for future trades, and we unloaded supplies together.
The goat butted me the moment I touched her reins.
"She likes to establish dominance," Brahn said, grinning.
"She'll fit right in," I muttered.
Wisp barked at the goat. The goat lowered her head. Wisp blinked up onto the roof.
Alina was already laughing.
We named her Terror.
Day 10 - Journal Entry
New arrival: Trader (Brahn) Traded coin for:
Goat (female, healthy, producing milk)Barley seed x2 sacks Turnip seed x1 sack Iron nails x50Rope (30 ft total)Spare cloth blankets x2Whetstone
Paid: 2 gold crowns. Remaining funds: 4 gold crowns, 9 silver shillings, ~47 brass pennies
Farm update:
Owlbear (Rook) alert and eating well. Wisp is more territorial since the goat arrived. Pen reinforced with additional fencing
Note: Expand pasture. Consider fencing off the garden separately.
Alina suggests naming the owlbear "Rook." Still deciding.
That night, Wisp lay at the foot of the bed. Rook was quiet outside, curled near the fire pit in its pen. Terror snored like a drunk dwarf.
And for the first time in days, I felt something close to peace.
But peace never lasts long out here.
Not with what's coming.
That night, after the laughter died down and the fire was low, I sat with my journal by candlelight. The sounds of the goat snoring, the soft exhale of Rook in the pen, and Wisp's occasional shuffle near the door reminded me this was no dream.
Every entry I made carved reality deeper into stone. These creatures weren't just strays—they were mine now. Responsibilities. Charges.
Outside, the wind kicked up again. The treeline rustled. I paused mid-sentence.
Wisp let out a low growl.
I grabbed the sword.
We stepped outside into the cold. The moon was half-full, casting pale light across the ground. Rook stood in his pen, feathers puffed, staring toward the northern tree line. Terror bleated nervously behind the barn.
Wisp blinked forward in bursts, tail rigid, ears forward.
The trees moved.
Not the wind. Something larger. A presence. I crept toward the fence, blade in hand, trying to track the shape-shifting through the brush.
A branch snapped. A guttural sound echoed.
Not beastmen.
Something sniffed.
And then I saw it—lumbering into view like it had crawled out of a nightmare: thick, leathery hide, four eyes gleaming in the dark, and rows of teeth too large for its drooling mouth. It looked like some malformed cross between a giant lizard and a hog.
A baby.
It froze at the edge of the light. Wisp blinked between me and the creature, tail down but not barking.
It took a step forward, heavy feet squelching in the mud.
I tightened my grip on the hilt.
Then it let out a soft, gurgling snort—and collapsed on the ground.
I didn't sleep the rest of the night.
Between making sure it wasn't faking death and preparing a makeshift pen with a crate barrier, I spent hours watching it breathe. Slow, labored, but steady. Covered in small wounds. Nothing was bleeding heavily, but clearly it had come far.
In the morning, I got a better look.
It was reptilian. Almost draconic, but without wings. Covered in muddy, cracked scales. Its mouth was packed with small, daggerlike teeth, but it didn't act aggressively. Just exhausted.
Alina wrinkled her nose when she saw it. "That thing stinks."
"Probably infected. I'll need to clean the wounds."
"And then what?"
I shrugged. "Figure out what it is. Feed it. Hope it doesn't eat Wisp."
"He'll blink away before it can sneeze."
Wisp responded by blinking onto the creature's back and sitting.
The reptilian monster huffed, then let out a rumbling snore.
"I'm not naming it yet," I said.
"You said that about the goat."
Day 11 - Journal Entry
Species: Unknown (likely extraplanar origin) Size: Approx. 6 ft long, 3 ft at shoulder Condition: Minor lacerations, shallow bite wounds, heavy exhaustion Disposition: Docile while resting. No defensive behavior. Responded neutrally to Wisp.
Behavioral notes: Four eyes. Reptilian body. Swine-like snout. Possibly juvenile. No known match in Warhammer bestiaries.
Housing: Temporary enclosure built using crate sides, canvas, and scrap fencing. Add support before dusk.
Name: Undecided. Holding off pending behavior change.
—
With three animals now under my care, the farm started to feel less like a home and more like a sanctuary—or a trap.
Every new creature brought new problems. Territory. Diet. Health. Safety.
The goat needed milking, the owlbear needed raw meat, and the lizard-hog... thing hadn't even opened its eyes since arriving.
I was out of traps. Out of snares. The last of the rabbits were gone.
And the woods weren't going to keep giving without taking something back.
The next time I went hunting, I'd have to go further.
Too far.