He hasn't noticed his familiar in quite some time, but whenever he decided to speak, it was impossible to ignore.
Albin adjusted his grip on the shovel. The wooden handle was rough, splintered in places and heavier than he expected. The iron was dull, stained brown from old earth and something darker that might have been rust or just a lifetime of use.
He forced a small breath out through his nose and looked toward the river bend Harlik had pointed at.
"Work," Albin said to himself. "Do something normal."
Shadow padded beside him through the edge of the fields, tail straight, body low in that deliberate way cats had when they chose to act like cats. To everyone he had met, he was just a black animal following that stranger. Not to Albin.
The irrigation channel was a wide trench dug from the river toward the lower fields. It ran in a lazy, uneven line, like the farmers had carved it out over the years, expanding it whenever needed and repairing it only if something annoyed them enough.
Right now, they were annoyed.
At one point, the water barely moved. It pooled near the bend, muddied and stagnant as if it had decided it was done helping the people.
He stepped closer, his clean shoes sinking slightly into damp ground. After looking down, he saw the blockage immediately – mud packed with gravel, branches, and what looked like a collapsed chunk of bank. Someone had tried to clear it before and given up halfway, leaving half-loosened stones like teeth in swollen gum.
He brought the shovel down and tested the mud near the edge. The blade slid in with a wet sound.
"Easy," he muttered while digging, "Just dig. Rocks out. Water flow. Five copper. Pay for food and bed. Get home."
He paused digging for a moment at the last part, but shoved the thought away before it could become anything worse than a thought.
He just dug.
The next scoop was heavy, mud clinging to the blade like it didn't want to let go. He tossed it onto the bank. Next scoop hit a stone with a dull clang. Albin wedged the blade under it, leaned his weight and grunted as it shifted.
His shoulders protested. He hadn't done this kind of work in years. The kind of work where you needed muscles instead of words. He thought of a digging ability and couldn't restrain himself from letting out a laugh.
Shadow watched from a few feet away, sitting with a posture that looked indifferent. Only his eyes were different now. Too focused. Too intent. Like he was watching what the world did in response to Albin.
Albin grabbed a rock he had just freed from mud and rolled it aside. A thin stream of water shifted around the new formation of rocks and mud, sending a small ripple down the channel.
"See?" Albin thought. "This is manageable. This is - "
Something in the ground answered. Not a sound. Not at first.
A feeling.
A subtle give beneath his shoes. As if the earth had exhaled. It sent vibration into Albin's soul.
Albin froze mid-motion, shovel raised.
Everything looked the same. Sounded the same. A farmer in the distance shouted something at another. A bird pecked at the bark of a tree near the crops.
And yet, Albin's skin prickled. He swallowed. "Shadow?"
"Keep digging," Shadow didn't look at Albin. He was Calm. Too calm. "But… slowly."
His grip tightened on the shovel until his knuckles paled. He lowered it into the mud again with exaggerated care, like he was approaching a sleeping dog that hadn't eaten in days and might bite.
He tossed the mud aside.
The water shifted again. The small pool near the bend trembled as if something underneath had moved. The surface clouded, a darker smear rising from below and spreading outward.
"That's just… mud, right?"
Shadow didn't answer right away.
The earth beneath Albin's left foot vibrated and eventually softened.
His left leg sank a fraction.
He jerked his foot back, heart pounding harder, then it happened again. "What the…"
The ground didn't collapse. It simply adjusted. Like someone under a blanket who was adjusting his position.
Shadow jumped on all fours. For the first time since they had left the Badger, he looked less like a cat and more like something else. A familiar. Something that had survived by not being stupid.
"Albin," Shadow had no wit in his voice. "Stop."
Albin stopped moving.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the river bend made a sound – not a roar. Not a splash. A low, wet drag. Like someone pulling a soaked blanket across stone.
This time, not the ground, but the water trembled. The muddy smear thickened, and the pool near the bend bulged upward, as if something beneath it had punched it.
Albin's mouth went dry.
He took a slow step back. His shoe lifted out the mud with a squelch.
The earth under his spot where he had been standing rose a finger's width. Then it sank again.
Albin held his breath.
"What is that?"
Shadow's eyes were squinted. "Something that doesn't want you here. Now move."
Albin did as he was told when the ground gave in.
Not under him. In front of him.
A section of the bank carved inward with a sudden wet collapse. The water rushed in after it, trying to fill the new space. For a moment, it looked as if the river itself had been punched in the stomach.
He stared into the gap. It wasn't a hole in the normal sense. It wasn't clean earth or exposed roots. It was a wound.
And something moved inside.
Not a head. Not a body. An impression.
A mass pushed up from below, pressing against the edge of the hole, and Albin saw – just for a second – something pale inside the mud. Bone. Not shaped like a skull or anything he could name. More like fragments that had become part of a creature's skin, held there like decoration.
Albin's stomach flipped.
Shadow hissed – like a warning sign.
Whatever was in the hole shifted again, and the ground around it trembled. Mud slid. Stones rattled.
It was not what Albin had expected.
It didn't rise fully. It didn't stand. It pushed itself upward like an animal reaching for the surface. But the movement was wrong – too slow in some parts, too sudden in others. It didn't have a clear front or back. No head. Just a thick, wet root-like mass.
Albin's mind scrambled for a description.
Worm. Slug. Tree root. A pile of dead things pretending to be alive.
Nothing fit.
The creature paused, half out of the earth. The mud around it seemed to… cling. It didn't behave like the mud Albin knew from his world.
Then it shifted towards the water as the pool began trembling again. The creature sat tightly against the flow and pushed against it until the water slowed and finally stopped.
"It's blocking it," he shared. "It's… It is the blockage!"
Shadow's eyes stayed on the creature. "It doesn't like change."
"I don't like change either! What do we do? Do I – do we run?"
Shadow didn't look at him. "Yes."
Albin's legs didn't move right away. He wanted them to. They just didn't get the message in time.
The creature moved again – this time shifting toward him.
It didn't charge or lunge like a predator. It simply pressed upward and sideways. Albin took a step back. Then another.
His foot caught on a stone, and he stumbled, arms flailing, shovel swinging wide.
Its blade clipped the creature's side.
Then a sound – not a scream, but a wet, offended crackle that reminded him of roots snapping under pressure.
It reacted instantly. Its mass surged. Not faster. Just more. More of its body rose from the hole, pushing out ridges as the ground underneath Albin's feet softened, his heel sinking.
"No–no, no –" he gasped, his voice aloud.
The ground gave under his foot, and suddenly, he was sliding down toward the hole. Mud is sucking at his shoe.
He shoved the shovel handle into the bank to catch himself. The handle sank in, useless. With the next pull, he lost the handle.
His hands slammed into the mud. Cold, wet, and thick. His fingers hurt.
The creature was closer now. It now sat along the edge of the hole and, with one thick limb – if it even was one – shifted towards his leg.
Albin's lungs forgot how to work.
Something touched his foot.
It was pressure. A heavy, damp grip like being wrapped by a rope.
He tried to shake his leg, but it didn't move. He screamed – a short sound – and his mind shrieked along.
Shadow moved.
He darted forward and sank his teeth into the creature's surface.
The creature's grip loosened from the distraction. It now pushed out a limb toward Shadow.
With the distraction, Albin could free his leg and started to push himself away, slipping in mud.
Shadow leapt back as well, landing near Albin's shoulder, his fur puffed.
"Run."
Albin tried. He pushed himself up, stumbled and nearly fell again. The ground around the bend was completely unstable now, torn open where the creature had risen and moved.
Every step felt hard and like work. Behind him, the creature came closer again. The hole widened as mud slid down its walls.
Albin's heart slammed against his ribs. The air tasted like iron.
He was running now. Badly. Like a man having sandbags tied to his feet.
"Do something!"
Shadow matched his pace with terrifying ease. "I am. I'm not dying here."
"Helpful"
"That's me."
They were not chased by a predator, but by nature itself. The thing is moving like mud sliding downhill.
After a few steps, Albin reached firmer ground. He turned, panting, to look back. He wasn't chased anymore. The creature had returned to holding back the flow of water. Like a dam made of living earth.
Albin stared, chest heaving. His mind raced away, and his eyes jumped to the shovel lying half-buried near the bend where he'd lost it.
"If you are going back for that shovel, this will be your last day with a familiar."
Albin's mouth opened. Then closed. He swallowed. "Noted."
He scanned the area. Mud. Stones. The channel. The river.
The request was to clear the blockage. Which was alive.
A lurch went through his stomach again.
His breathing slowed down. Then something clicked.
"You know that Harlik said, he'd give me coin if he sees water on the fields, right?"
"Yes. So?"
"So, we can just leave that thing be."
"You want to…"
"Yes." Albin wiped away dirt and sweat from his face. "It's either that or dying. And I'd prefer dying in my own bed."
"Finally. A preference."
Albin didn't answer and started to run. He ran along the channel, away from the bend, looking for a weak spot – any place where the bank was low.
The ground was dry here. Firmer as the channel narrowed. The water was thin, but still held pressure behind the dam of the creature.
He grabbed a large, flat stone and started hacking at the side of the trench. It wasn't efficient. It hurt his hands. Dirt got under his nails. He didn't care. Dying at home. He scraped. Pulled. Dug.
Behind him, he heard a wet trembling. Again.
"You should consider working faster."
"I'm going as fast as I can!"
"Then go faster," Shadow unapologetically replied.
Albin shoved his stone deeper, tearing at the bank until the side of the trench weakened. The dirt was packed with roots that snapped with sharp pops.
Now, shoving his fingers into the loose soil, he was ripping a chunk free, his hands turning red, shaking.
Water hesitated. Then spilled.
It poured out of the breach in a sudden, dirty rush, cutting into the field and forming a new path.
Albin stumbled back, staring at the water rushing off the edge of a field.
The channel's pressure dropped immediately.
And the creature reacted. It didn't rush at Albin. It paused. Its body is shifting slowly.
Then, slowly, it sank. The mass eased back into its hole, mud sliding after it, smoothing over the torn bank, filling up the hole like nothing had happened.
Albin stood frozen, watching the scene, breath ragged.
The creature had disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only a slight dwelling in the earth and a murky patch in the water that slowly cleared.
Albin's legs almost gave out. He had to lean his hands on his thighs, gulping air. Shadow walked up beside him and sat.
"Well, that was unpleasant."
"Is it… gone?"
"Not gone. Satisfied."
"That's worse?"
"Yes," Shadow replied calmly. "Now you understand."
Albin's eyes followed the redirected water spilling into the edge. It was cutting a new groove while carving earth away.
He swallowed and wiped his muddy hands on his pants without thinking.
He turned and started walking back toward the fields, legs still trembling with leftover adrenaline. Each step made his shoes squelch. His shirt had the familiar stains of sweat again.
Halfway back, his fingers started to ache where the stone had scraped them raw. He looked down and saw small, dirty cuts. Fingers swollen. His marriage ring hurt.
He kept walking.
The farmers were still working when he reached the group. Harlik stood near the edge of the crops, arms crossed, watching the channel area, as he had already expected Albin to return. When he saw Albin, his eyebrows lifted. "You done?"
Albin stopped a few feet away, trying to catch his breath and look less like a man who had just negotiated with the ground itself.
"Sort of," Albin said, voice hoarse. "The water will run."
Harlik's eyes pierced Albin's. "Sort of?"
Albin pointed back toward the channel. "The blockage… was more than mud."
Harlik stared. Then his gaze dropped to Albin's hands. His expression shifted from skepticism to something more cautious.
"What did you find?" Harlik asked quietly.
Albin hesitated. How was he supposed to describe something that shouldn't exist without sounding like you're trying to get thrown out of town?
"Something under the bend," he said carefully. "Something living. It… didn't like me digging?"
Harlik's jaw tightened. For a moment, the man looked older than Albin thought he was.
"Damn river…"
"You knew this was there!?"
"What do you think? Why are we telling our children not to go play there?"
Ignoring the pain, Albin's hand tightened. "You sent me there."
"I sent you to clear mud."
"And the mud tried to EAT ME! I could have died, you bastard!
Albin's eyebrows lowered on the inner end, his body tightening, eyes piercing Harlik. His shoulders went back, making his chest as large as possible, while his legs moved a step apart.
Harlik held Albin's gaze. "Heard you're an outworlder. No class," he said, unimpressed by the change in Albin's voice. "You walked into town with a clean smile. You took a job meant for someone local because you needed coin. Outworlder. And you did it."
Albin's throat tightened, taking half a step back from the muscular man, "I didn't do it. I survived it."
Harlik's mouth twitched. "I owe you," he said and reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out coins.
Copper. Dull, scratched from use.
He counted five into his palm. Then he paused.
Albin's heart sank.
Harlik fetched another coin and shoved it toward Albin.
"What's the extra for?"
Harlik shrugged, eyes still hard. "For not running into town screaming. For not making my father deal with this. Lost two men in the last week trying to clear it."
Albin took the coins slowly. They felt heavy for how small they were. "Thank you."
Harlik leaned closer, voice dropping. "Not so bad for someone like you. If you need more work, let me know." He stepped back, calling orders to the workers. No explanation. Just order.
Albin turned away, coins clenched in his fist and started walking back to Mistelbrunn.
Only when the fields were behind him, and the road was empty again, did his legs start shaking properly.
Shadow followed, walking beside Albin.
Inside his mind, his voice was low when he thought, "You said you'd leave me if I went back for the shovel."
"Yes."
"Were you serious?"
"Yes."
Albin swallowed. "Okay."
Shadow looked up while keeping pace with Albin. "Learning boundaries. Good."
"I could have died."
"I know."
They walked in silence for a while. The town gate came into view, the palisade dark against the sky. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows over the road.
His hand throbbed. The cuts stung where dried sweat and mud mixed with his blood.
He looked over his shoulder here and there, but nothing followed.
The guard at the gate nodded at him as he approached. "Back already?"
Albin managed a tired nod. "Yes."
The guard's gaze flicked to Albin's dirt-streaked pants and his hands. "That channel fight back?"
Albin forced a weak smile. "Something like that."
The guard snorted as if it were a joke and waved him through.
Inside Mistelbrunn, the smells hit him again – bread, dung, smoke, fish. Familiar now in the worst possible way. He walked faster, eager for the Badger's warmth. The corner where no one asked questions. Shadow stayed close.
When the Cheeky Badger's sign came into view, Albin felt something in his chest loosen. Just a fraction. A stupid, grateful fraction.
He pushed the door open, and warmth rolled over him like a blanket.