A loud boom in the middle of the night startled me awake. A couple of seconds later, there was a flash, and the rain started pouring down in earnest. Stretch lifted his head, looked around briefly, and went back to sleep with a contented sigh. It took me longer to fall asleep; the rain was loud, drumming incessantly on the tent roof and creating a symphony of nature's chaos.
In the morning, I was again awakened by the "tongue alarm," Stretch's way of ensuring I didn't sleep in. It was still raining, and the sky showed no signs of clearing up. I opened the tent canopy, started the fire, and gave Stretch a sizeable piece of meat.
"Don't get used to it; when the rain stops, you're going hunting," I warned him, though his pleased expression at each meal suggested he didn't believe me.
The rain continued all day, creating a persistent backdrop of sound. Stretch looked very pleased every meal-time, clearly enjoying the break from any hunting duties. To pass the time, I played the guitar, the familiar chords blending with the rain, and tried to read a book. However, a pesky wolf demanded constant pets and scratches, making it hard to focus on anything else.
In the evening, the rain finally ceased. We ate dinner and went to sleep early; I was still tired from the previous night's interrupted rest.
The next day dawned cloudless and bright, the sun gleaming off the soaked ground. I didn't want to risk sinking into the mud, so we stayed put for another day. Stretch didn't leave the tent, relishing his role as a pampered wolf. I suspected he had no intention of ever trying to hunt again, having found a sucker human to feed him. At least this stop allowed me to regenerate my mana almost fully.
The following day, the sky was still clear, and the ground had dried enough for us to set out. Stretch was energetic, running forward and then back to me, his excitement palpable. I still had my bow out, looking for tracks, but only half-heartedly.
Near midday, we emerged from the forest into a valley filled with enormous boulders and rock outcroppings. The landscape was stark and beautiful, the rocks standing like ancient sentinels. After another hour of walking, we reached the middle of the valley and spotted animals perched on the rocks. They looked like a cross between gazelles and mountain goats. After telling Stretch to be quiet, I moved stealthily from boulder to boulder, careful not to spook them.
Finding a goat in a good position, I aimed my arrow and fired. To my astonishment, I hit it through the neck. It wobbled for a moment before collapsing, the rest of the herd scattering. We approached the fallen goat; I unscrewed the arrow's tip, cleaned it, and returned it to my storage.
I took out a field dressing kit and examined the tools: knives, saws, big scissors, a long two-pronged fork, and some other items. Looking at it, I realized that I had no idea what to do with those tools. On Earth, I planned to watch some YouTube videos about hunting and dressing game, but with all my shopping and Gate Hopping, I never got to it. My medical knowledge gave me some confidence, but field-dressing a goat was an entirely different skill set.
I wish there was a looting spell.
Inspired by my previous magical successes, I decided to craft a spell specifically for looting. I created a clear mental picture of what I wanted: the pelt removed and cleaned, the meat in steaks. I even laid out a plastic sheet for the parts to land on. Concentrating, I grabbed my magic with all my willpower and pushed.
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Pain shot through my face. I touched my cheek gently and found a piece of bone stuck in it. Yanking it out quickly, I winced and healed the spot. Four bone fragments had embedded themselves in my face. Thank God for my sunglasses; one lens was cracked, but it had saved my eye.
I looked at Stretch to check if he was okay. He looked as if someone had dipped him in a bucket of red paint, giving me a very judgmental side-eye.
"Don't look at me like that; it was my first attempt," I said, feeling apologetic.
The goat was gone, replaced by a big circle of gore. Stretch shook himself, pelting me with more blood and bits of bone. Ugh! It took three cleaning spells to get all the blood off him. Just in case, I cast Healing Touch on him, though it didn't seem to do anything. Cleaning myself took five spells, and my clothes were ruined; everything except my boxers had small holes.
Still feeling dirty, I walked back to a stream we had passed, undressed, and washed myself thoroughly. I had to soap myself and shampoo my hair again and again until I felt clean. The fact that the clean spell cleaned me completely was notwithstanding. I felt bloody and icky. Stretch seemed to enjoy playing in the water. Once dry, I dressed again, but Stretch shook himself and soaked me with wolf water.
"Seriously?" I asked, annoyed.
He wagged his tail and licked my hand.
It was a fantastic place to stop for lunch. To apologize for the goat shower, I gave Stretch two big filet steaks, lit my camping wood stove to make coffee, and pondered where I had gone wrong.
"I think the problem was that I tried to do too much in one go. I also pushed too hard with my magic."
Stretch wagged his tail and licked my face in a show of support.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy."
We stayed by the stream the rest of the day, setting up camp in the evening. The following morning, I decided to try again. After breakfast—croissants for me, chicken breasts for Stretch—we set out once more to the goat area. Again, I one-shot a goat and felt like an accomplished hunter.
This time, I prepared in advance. I donned protective goggles and leather biker gear, pulling Stretch behind me. Concentrating, I visualized only the pelt being removed from the goat. Pushing less magic and focusing it only on the pelt, I managed a small pop. The pelt lay in thin, rugged strips, mostly attached to the goat, with some pieces scattered around it.
Progress, albeit small.
I opened the goat's front and removed the internal organs. Stretch wasted no time feasting on the liver. Remembering that a kill needs to be drained, I found an elevated outcrop with a triangular rock formation, tied a rope around the goat's neck and hung it there.
We waited until the blood stopped flowing, Stretch finishing the liver and heart before taking a nap. Once the goat was done draining, I set up a table, took it down, and cast Purify and Clean on everything. I started cutting it up for steaks. My butchering skills were rough, but passable for a first attempt.
We stayed in the valley for another week to refine my looting spell. I seriously decreased the goat population, had to move things around to free up a chest cooler for all the meat, and improved my field dressing and butchering skills. I discovered the saw was for cutting bones. The only progress on the looting spell was that most of the pelt now flew off in sizeable pieces. Once, the horns also flew off; I had no idea how that happened.
It was time to move on; I didn't want to exterminate the goats.
That evening, I cooked a goat steak for myself. It was okay but chewy. I gave the rest to Stretch, who seemed to prefer the cooked version. After he finished the cooked piece, he pushed a raw piece toward me with his muzzle, looking at me expectantly.
"Smart wolf," I muttered, cooking his meat for him. He stuck his tongue in my nose in gratitude.
I played my guitar for a while before we went to sleep, feeling a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie with my unconventional companion.