“I haven’t exactly had time to learn what is safe to eat out here,” Peter said. “I don’t suppose you know how far away the fishing village is?”
“No idea, no.”
“Hmm. Well, we left town six days ago, and it was supposed to be possible to reach the village in only seven days. If they’re two days behind, then I’m eight days along the seven-day path. I can try to go back upstream to meet them, something that would be nearly impossible with all the tributaries, I could stay here and wait, since I know I’m downstream of them and they won’t wind up somewhere else, or I can continue down the river and hope I reach the village in less than two days.”
“Two of those options sound pretty silly.”
“You think I should stay here and eat what you find for me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I already pointed out how foolish it would be to climb back up the mountain trying to find them. Approaching the village as a penniless stranger doesn’t sound much better to me.”
“Would you rather sit here and starve?”
“I’ll live without food until they find me, and I have no shortage of water.”
“But you’ll be weak, probably even sick.”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. If you’ve got any advice on what I should try eating, I would appreciate it. Once I'm dried out, I'll start heading downriver at a nice, relaxed pace.”
“You don’t have a cooking pot with you, do you?”
“No, but I have my belt knife, so I can roast something over my fire.”
“On a knife?”
“No, on a stick I use the knife to shape.”
“Oh, I guess that could work. I’ll see what I can find around here.”
Peter watched Honeyhips wander away, as confused by her as ever, before shaking his head and returning to his delicate fire. It may have been slow to get going, but once he did, it was easy to make bigger and hotter. By the time Honeyhips returned, it was nearly as tall as him and so hot he was standing thirty feet away and still felt sunburnt.
“Why would you need a fire like that? Are you firing pottery?”
“Maybe I did get a little excited. It will die down a bit quick enough.”
“This can all be eaten raw, anyway, but it’s good if you mash these up and wrap them in these leaves and get them nice and toasty.”
“Can I have a look?” Honeyhips handed over a plate of bark loaded with berries, roots, mushrooms, and a few broad leaves. Peter nibbled at each and decided he was hungry enough to try eating stuffed leaves toasted on a fire.
It was a messy process, using sticks, rocks, and his bare hands, but he managed it. By then the fire had died down enough to approach, so he laid his wrap on a stone in the middle of the coals. Fifteen minutes later he discovered the difficult part was getting it back out of the fire. It was too hot and no longer had any stiffness whatsoever.
In the end, using two sticks as tongs or chopsticks worked out, if barely.
Turns out he really was hungry enough, because this was definitely not something he would usually even consider, yet he ate the whole thing without hesitation once it had cooled enough to bite. Before he finished, though, his gag reflex tried to reassert itself. Peter still managed to swallow the last bite.
“Thank you, Honeyhips. With the heat my fire was putting off, I imagine my clothes are dry now.”
Peter retrieved his now stiffening clothes from their bushes and dressed. He was about to start walking but remembered fire safety. It wasn’t easy without buckets, but he doused the fire after spreading out the coals, putting a layer of sand and gravel on top for good measure. When he looked up, the dryad was nowhere to be seen.
The walk downriver was boring, really, and he kept fighting to keep his pace slow. It was easy to pick up speed going downhill. Studying plants, mushrooms, and rocks helped. Watching the wildlife helped. Being extra cautious and selective of river crossings helped.
That night he was faced with picking where to sleep without advice. He had a brief flashback to the night he spent with the mammoths but shook it off. Peter eventually settled on a crack between two boulders, with a fire on the more open side and a pile of rocks behind him. It was warm enough the fire wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t like the idea of being alone in the woods at night.
Waking up to a pink sky, Peter realized he at least got a little bit of sleep. Also, he hadn’t been attacked by any wildlife. Another fire put out; he started walking without breaking his fast. It seemed a better idea than eating random plants and mushrooms hoping he picked something edible.
Before noon he was looking over the treetops to a rolling plain cut by the river. He was almost on the grasslands, which meant the village was probably nearby. Hunger weakened him, made him unsteady on his feet. At the edge of the forest Peter chose to make camp despite still having a few hours of sunlight left. The best he could find was an uprooted tree.
In the morning, Peter continued on, leaning heavily on his staff. He couldn’t help but wonder at Honeyhips’ absence. He still hadn’t seen any sign of the rumoured trail from the village to the pass. When he saw a little dock made of lashed together logs, he didn’t even think about it. He sat down and looked out over the river. Resting felt good, and Peter found himself laying back on the platform, looking up at the sky and watching clouds blow by.
“You okay?” a voice asked, startling Peter.
When he got sat up and turned around, he was facing a man with a fishing pole. “More or less. On the way down from the pass I fell in the river. Got separated from my companions. And my food.”
“The pass? From the other side of the mountain?”
“Yes,” Peter was a little confused as to how that was unclear.
“Not often folks come that way. You look dry enough.”
“It’s been two nights since I got out of the river.”
“Must be hungry then.”
“Well, yeah. Not from around here, so I don’t know what is safe to eat.”
“The missus has a stew on. Come on.”
Peter stood and followed to a little mud hut with a thatched roof. The man gestured at a bench outside and ducked in.
“Got a lad here what fell in the river day before last. Traveller coming from the mines. Supplies with his companions. Hasn’t eaten.”
“What are you yapping for, then? Get him a bowl of stew!”
A minute later the man stepped back outside, handed a bowl of stew to Peter, and headed back to whatever he had been up to.
The stew was very brown, and the few lumps lacked any sort of defining shape or colour. Peter had no idea what he was eating, but he shoveled it in and swallowed without tasting it or even noticing how it felt in his mouth. He set the bowl down on the bench next to him and leaned back against the wall.
“Want more?” Peter looked up to see a woman much younger looking than he had expected looking at him. Her dress looked like little more than a burlap sack with arm and neck holes cut out, her feet were bare.
“No, thanks. Got to give my gut time to settle.”
She nodded and took the bowl back inside.
Peter closed his eyes and dozed in the sun.
He woke when someone sat next to him. It was the missus, as the man had called her. “I’m grateful for your hospitality. If there’s anything around that needs doing, maybe I can help.”
“Well, there is one thing. The old fart will be gone long enough yet, too.” She stood, turned to face him, and hiked her dress up. She was most certainly not wearing anything underneath. “We don’t get visitors often, and the bugger hasn’t given me a child yet.” She sat straddling him, fumbling with his pants.
“Adultery is a poor repayment for seeing a starving man fed,” Peter said, voice sounding funny. She was starting to figure out how he kept his pants up, and didn’t seem bothered by his objection at all. “You don’t know anything about me,” he tried, but she had loosened his pants enough to get her hand down them. “I’m from a long way off; any child of mine will look out of place here. It will be obvious. What will people think?”
“I don’t care what people think. I endure that old fool every night and don’t get anything to show for it. Maybe it’s me, but I’m betting it’s him. His dead wife never had any children, either.” He was hard now, and she had gotten it out where she could use it. He started to object again, but she hugged his face into her chest and lowered herself down, a warm, wet, feeling. Peter gave up, trying to let himself enjoy it instead. Her third orgasm seemed to shock her, and she collapsed. This was rather unexpected. “Please, plant your seed,” she whispered in his ear, a quaver that sent a shiver down his spine. It almost sounded like she was crying.
Now Peter was truly in a dilemma. Here he had been trying to just let her do her thing and be passive. He was still inside her, and she wasn’t letting him go. Did he take control and finish, or did he wait for her to choose?
She gently bit the side of his neck, and he found himself moving despite his conscious thought saying not to. He stood and bounced her up and down until he finished, then his legs gave out and he fell back to the bench with a thud. His brain cleared up, like he hadn’t been getting enough oxygen, and he felt dirty.
When she finally got off him and went inside, he quickly tucked himself back in, did up his pants, and hobbled off on shaking legs, glad for his staff. He just hoped that he got far enough away before either of them decided to look for him.
An hour or so later, the river widened, and ahead stood a dozen or so buildings. Most seemed to be small houses not much different than the one he had just left, but there was one larger building with a more familiar construction. Peter hoped it was an inn and picked up his pace.
He was half right; it was also a trading post. Entering the lobby, Peter approached the front desk. “Excuse me, I’ve found myself in a bit of a peculiar predicament,” he started, waiting to be acknowledged.
“And what would that be?” The innkeeper asked with a bored tone.
“I’m in need of a room, but I can’t pay until my travelling companions catch up. I fell in the river and was washed a good way downstream, they might be here before dark, it might be another two days. I don’t know.”
“Downstream, you say? You came from up the mountain?”
“Yes, from the mines up through the pass. On our way to the Capital.”
“Not the strangest tale I’ve heard, and if they don’t show up you can always work for it. You look like you could use a feeding and a good sleep, first, though.”
“You’ve got that right,” Peter said, resisting the urge to laugh.
“Who are your companions, then?”
“A guard and a woman. I’m thinking they’ll be asking after me. And after a boat down to the lake.”
“Should have known there’d be a guard involved. Only folks who use that pass, really.”
The innkeeper showed Peter to a room and produced a loaf of bread, some sausage, and a chunk of cheese. Peter ate enough to take the edge off his hunger and sprawled out on the bed.