One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 7: Hostile Growth.

The forest buzzed with hostility, noises hidden just beyond its shadowed canopy. This tide of anger followed us home as the gathered workers dispersed. Low waves of hostility followed us home in the evening’s gentle light. One hand on my weapon and both eyes on the treeline, I walked behind Gol, my body tensed. With no singular threat to focus on, I instead paid cautious heed to the wilderness at large.

The trees shifted and swayed, a stiff breeze carrying forth growls and howls anew. Wary as I was, my caution proved somewhat unwarranted. Nothing chose to step forth from the treeline and make itself known to us. We arrived home unscathed, if somewhat tense and on edge.

The noises remained all throughout the evening as we unpacked tools and sat through a quiet supper. A quick dip in the stream once Ishila had left gave no variation in the creature’s consistency. If anything, they were louder now. Angrier, even. Low growls and howls from predators, rumbles of unknown beasts, the shrieks of what I knew were mossdeer. All mixed together into a wave of uncomfortable noises.

Not quite from the forests’ edge, I guessed as I attempted to focus, my eyes closed. Somewhere further in. From all directions.

Whatever this was, it did not concern me. Let whatever was out there resolve their own problems. I had helped enough, for now.

Even within the comforts of my own lodge, the sound remained. At first, bearable as I prepared for sleep, lone candle lit and poring over old books Velton had lent me. The subject of politics quickly bored me, I found. What fascinated me more was that I could read the text, despite never having seen it before. It occurred to me then that I had done very little reading since my arrival on this world.

I had been, at one point in my old life, a very avid reader. But time had taken its toll and that habit had passed as the more pressing demands of life set in. I lingered over the pages now, paused to take in every sentence. But even this newfound wonder at the simple act of reading could not stave off boredom, and soon, I retired for the night.

I would have slept well, had it not been for the rampant storm of noise outside. It was at first somewhat bearable, then quickly transcended into annoyance. Genuine displeasure followed soon after. I lay on my side, one ear pressed to the pillow, arm over my head. Every time the deluge seemed to abate, I would drift towards sleep, only for a sudden uproar to snap me back to wakefulness once more.

While at first dismissed, I soon resorted to stuffing my ears with fabric in vain attempt to help drown out some of the shrieks and howls. This merely took off the edge, but it was enough. After far too long, my eyes began to grow heavy and sleep came.

This too I was robbed of.

No sooner had I drifted off than screams pierced through the stuffing in my ears and went directly to my mind. I sat bolt upright, my own roar of frustration rattling the lodge’s insides. Through this all, the shrill screams continued unabated. Eyes red, I heaved myself from the bed, snatched the claymore, and kicked open my front door.

Something was about to die.

It took me several good moments to realize the shrieking did not come from a physical source, but a skill.

The stone sentinels all throughout my crops shrieked in alarm, their wails being fed directly to me. There were intruders on my land. Thieves in the night. Lantern snatched from beside the door, I glared into the darkness, blade held at my side.

The moon’s dim light showed little as I stomped down the hill, my ears and nose instead working to find whatever dared disturb my rest. Shadowed shapes darted across the road, diving into the tall wheat. The pasture was filled with moos and stomping cows, and my nostrils picked up various strains of blood.

Another raid. Were the stonemongers back? The monsters I saw resembled the creatures I had once chased off. Only now they were bigger. I saw one take a kick to the chest and keep clawing away, latched on to a taur-cow.

Larger. Meaner. More resilient. It clawed and flayed until it was rammed free and crushed beneath a mass of hooves.

More crawled through the crops. I could not see them, but their rotten scent lay heavy in my nostrils. Sword raised, I parted the wheat before more and stalked towards them, lantern left behind. Its faint light would do little to help me in these shadows.

They evaded me. Wherever I trod, they melted away, slipping off to harass other parts of the farm. Gol was backed up near the old shed, teeth bared as he kept between the mutated monsters and Artyom. Blue light flared from the treeline as a massive, growth-covered stag stepped from the trees. Its antlers gleamed with light as shimmering rays shot forth, looping high and crashing down into my crops.

Pale fire burst forth to incinerate all close to it, then vanished. With a roar, I turned my focus wholly to it, only for the beast to meld back into the trees. Faster than anything my size should have, I turned and slammed my blade through a creature that had crept up on me.

It shrieked longer than anything that had just been speared through the chest should, then expired.

A slender, fox-like being darted past my feet, dragging the mercifully extinguished lantern. It was ended a few moments later as it foolishly drew near the briar of biter-pods and was snatched from the ground.

Just as quickly as the raid had begun, it was over. Creatures dispersed, slinking back into the forest, their dead left behind. I found myself in the midst of the fields, a single dead creature before me as the rest vanished.

I found mostly superficial damage around my farm. Bloodied cows, a broken door to the toolshed, missing items, battered fences. All things that could be fixed in the morning. I groaned, already imagining the setback. I would either be late for the second day of supervising potential farmhands, or have to leave the damage to be fixed later. But there was permanent, undoable damage. Gol and Artyom were alive and well, as were the cows. Anything else could be patched up, given time.

With a sour taste in my mouth, I returned to my lodge, battered lantern in hand. No sooner had I closed the door than the cacophony of howls and shrieks returned anew. Teeth gnashed and fabric stuffed in my ears once more, I lay down to rest, to salvage what little sleep I could.

It was not to be. I was yanked from a dream sometime later, the shrill shrieks of my stone sentinels ringing through my ears once more.

More intruders.

Now, hatred burned within as I burst from the door, ready to kill.

There was something about disturbed sleep that did away with a man’s morals.

They were back in numbers.

I didn’t care.

I charged down the hill, claymore raised as scent guided me towards the largest congregation of intruders. They scattered once more, yet I remained in dogged pursuit, chasing down one after another. The blade fell and more were rent into pieces.

More darted through the night, headed for the pasture or the shed. There was a thunk that shook that air as one ran into Velton’s wards around the lodge and was violently rejected through the air. Quickly as it had come, the amassed force was gone once more.

There was an air of annoyance about me now as I once more checked the damage, such as what had been inflicted in short order. Again, mostly superficial things. I stared across the fields, and could have sworn I saw the outline of an overly large crow in the darkness, perched atop a distant tree. Although I could not hear it over the renewed cacophony, I could have sworn it was laughing.

A part of the pasture fence had been torn down as one of the creatures had seen fit to bash its body into it, and that was something that could not wait for morning. With a tired grunt, I set about to patching that up. I had scarcely finished when whispers from my sentinels told me there were more intruders.

They crept along the treeline, watching and waiting.

I glowered out at the formless darkness, claymore in hand and rage in my being. No distinct enemy revealed itself, and soon I retired to my lodge.

I slept little that night. They came again and again, soon devolving into doing nothing more than provoking a reaction from me. Shadowed masses would burst onto my farm, alert the sentinels, drag me from my rest and then flee back into the shadows. Morning found me outside, sat near the old house and shed, lantern in hand and claymore laid bare across my knees.

There were scant few corpses about, as I had managed to catch and slay a handful of different beasts. There was no consistent pattern in their being. Some resembled stonemongers, others were base animals. Some, creatures I had not before seen. All seemed to work together to disrupt my life.

I poked at what I assumed was a stonemonger corpse. The rough shape seemed the same, but there was a single, glaring flaw. The entire thing was overgrown with vines and crystal-like growths. Somewhat lucid, I yawned and poked at the buds that grew across the creature’s skin.

They were familiar. I had seen them on several mossdeer before. Faint memory tickled the back of my mind. Something about a request to find and deliver these. But I could not hold the phantom, and it slipped away.

Ishila looked me up and down some time later, her expression worried.

“I was going to ask if yah had heard the racket last night, but I see yer’ well acquainted.” She winced.

I nodded in return and groaned.

“Indeed.”

She had little to say throughout my explanation of the raids and noise. Her expression shifted throughout, but in the end she simply nodded.

“Well then, what say we attend to the damage before we head out?” She gestured. “Looks like it’s gonna be a long day for yah.”

I contemplated the fact that I could simply stay home and sleep, but quickly ruled against it. Others depended on me. If Ishila were to show up and announce to everyone gathered in the fields that the day was off, I would lose potential workers. I would need to function in a tired state, but such was life.

It was sometime later that we had the pasture fence boarded up and bloodied cows looked at. Ishila assured me they were tough, hardy creatures that would heal on their own, yet I insisted. Infection and all that. It took more time than I would have wanted, but this too was done.

Gol and Artyom had gotten a similar amount of rest as myself. The felinid had his larger companion loaded with tool-barrels by the time we returned from the fields, much to my relief.

With an aching back and a long day ahead, we set out. Followed all the way by the mocking laughter of a massive crow.