The Gate Traveler

The following morning, a wet tongue roused me from my sleep by licking my face. For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming, but then reality set in, and I gently pushed the wolf away with a groan.

"Stop that," I grumbled, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

Ignoring the blinking light in my vision that had appeared the night before, I decided it could wait. At that moment, I felt too exhausted to ponder new abilities.

After drinking two cups of coffee, I addressed the blinking light—I was too tired last night.

 

 

After a moment's consideration, I clicked NO. The array of new skills and spells already at my disposal was overwhelming enough without delving into new arcane mysteries that I probably wouldn't understand. Wizard sounded terrific. As a child, I loved the concept of magic, but I was already out of my depth and felt like there were too many new things to deal with. Another new thing, especially an imposing subject like being a wizard, sounded too much, too soon.

It also didn't say that I learned a skill or spell; simply learned. I looked in the abilities list, and there wasn't anything of the sort.

Curious.

 Another notification followed:

 

You have learned the spell [Regrow Flesh] This is an advanced spell and, therefore, a noteworthy achievement. +2 to all stats.

 

"Nice!" I muttered to myself, feeling a surge of satisfaction as my attributes received a boost.

 

 

 

I added the free points to Luck because it was the lowest, and I didn't need them anywhere else. I got up, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. The wolf was looking at me expectantly.

"What do you want?"

He started wagging his tail.

I gave him some water and added wood to the fire. He drank the water and looked at me again, wagging his tail.

"I'm not going to keep feeding you. Go hunt something."

He kept wagging his tail.

When I began making bacon and eggs, he became a pest. He kept trying to steal the bacon, first from the frying pan and then from my plate. I kept pushing him away, but he was very persistent.

"NO!" I exclaimed, exasperated by his relentless begging. Undeterred, the wolf continued to wag his tail and look at me hopefully. His persistence was admirable, if not frustrating.

He started whining.

"I'm not going to keep feeding you. Go hunt something," I insisted firmly, though a pang of guilt tugged at my resolve. He started wagging his tail again and looking at me expectantly.

I turned sideways, so I could turn my back on him. He moved beside me, licked my hand, and looked at me expectantly. I worked on my "ignore" skill and tried to eat breakfast. He kept trying to push his muzzle into my plate or under my hand.

I finally finished eating and continued on my trek. My initial plan was to stay put and regenerate mana, but with the pestering, I knew it wouldn't be easy. I gave the wolf some more water and packed the camp.

I began walking again, and the wolf followed. Occasionally, he would run ahead, stop, and look back, waiting for me. We walked for a few hours, but then I stopped for lunch. Thinking the wolf would be indifferent to the smell, I gave it water and took out some sushi. It appears that I have been incorrect. I had to eat standing up and practice "ignore" again.

"Listen, buddy, this is not going to work. I don't have dog food and have no intention of feeding you steaks for three meals a day. I'll run out fast. On top of that, I don't want you to lose your hunter instincts. If we part ways, or something happens to me, you'll be helpless and get emaciated again. When you were hurt, it was part of the treatment, but now you need to hunt for yourself. You're a wolf; you know how to hunt."

He licked my face and started whining.

"Okay, let's do something else. But first, you need a name."

I looked at him; he was longer than "normal" wolves. Like his torso and legs were stretched.

"I'm going to call you Stretch," I declared, rewarded with a wag of approval from my newly christened companion. "Let's go hunt something together. You need to learn to fend for yourself," I said, equipping myself with a bow and quiver. Setting out into the forest, I scanned the surroundings for signs of game, a skill I had yet to master.

I walked very slowly, looking at the ground, searching for signs of game. Unfortunately, I only saw leaves, small sticks, and an occasional flower.

Hours passed in a frustrating blur of unsuccessful hunting attempts. Stretch's presence seemed to deter any potential prey, leaving us both hungry and tired by day's end. As dusk settled, I begrudgingly accepted our failure for the day and set up camp. I lit a fire, set up my tent, and settled down with a meal, my resolve tested by Stretch's hopeful eyes and persistent nudges with his nose. Standing up, I ate and practiced my "ignore."

Teaching him self-reliance was proving more challenging than expected. I gave Stretch water and drank a beer. Stretch put his head on my lap and looked at me with big puppy dog eyes.

“It will not work on me. It will not work on me. If I break now, I'll have to continue feeding him. He has to learn to feed himself; I'm not a steak dispensary,” I told myself repeatedly to help myself stay strong in the face of his puppy eyes. “You don’t feed wild animals; you let them fend for themselves, or they won’t survive. I will not break.”

After arranging our bedding, I went to sleep. The next morning, the "tongue alarm" woke me up again. I drank coffee and ate a sandwich for breakfast, standing up and practicing "ignore."

We continued walking, and I tried to locate tracks or other signs of game, but didn’t find anything. I knew that I didn’t have any hunter skills. Growing up in Birmingham, Alabama, and then Chicago didn’t offer me any wilderness survival education.

Stretch looked less perky today, probably from hunger. In a display of solidarity, I skipped lunch.

"I will not break. I will not break. He's a hunter and needs to hunt. I will not break," I repeated to myself like a mantra, though guilt threatened to weaken my resolve. Suddenly, Stretch's demeanor shifted. He growled softly, his ears perking up with alertness. Intrigued by his change in behavior, I followed his gaze cautiously.

Lunch?

I looked in the direction he was facing, but saw nothing. I started creeping slowly and quietly in that direction. Stretch growled again. I grabbed his muzzle.

"Shh!"

He kept growling with a closed muzzle.

Suddenly, a green lizard-like creature with a mouth full of short, pointy teeth and a stumped tail jumped out of the underbrush and tried to bite me. I hit it with my bow, and it flew into the bushes. I tried to see what happened to it, but it was too deep in the bush. Stretch stopped growling. So maybe it was dead? I came closer to look, but suddenly the red dot started blinking.

 

 

That's it. That was the entire message.

What am I supposed to do with that?

I took out gardening shears and cut away some of the bush, found the jurber, grabbed one of its legs, yanked it out of the bush, and put it in front of Stretch.

"Bon Appetit," I offered, hoping he would understand my intentions.

He looked at me like I was an idiot; I could almost see him roll his eyes.

I pushed the creature forward with my foot. "Yummy lizard?"

He walked away.

I sighed deeply and continued walking.

At dusk, I found a suitable spot for camp and started a fire. After all the walking, I was starving, and Stretch looked worse. I broke down and gave him a whole chicken. He finished it in three minutes, bones and all, and looked at me expectantly, wagging his tail.

"You're not going to get more. I'll keep you from starving, but for a good meal, you need to hunt."

He wagged his tail and licked my face. I shook my head and exhaled. After giving him water and having a "standing" dinner while "ignoring," I went to sleep.