Finally, the sun sank into the west and gave up to allow a single bright moon to dominate the sky. Kit stifled a yawn, and realized they’d have to make camp soon.
“Okay, it’s time.” Kit closed her eyes and whispered the words to a Ghostly Trail spell.
When she opened them a faint image of Boberton appeared on the trail ahead of her. It flickered then appeared again fifty meters further ahead. Then it flickered again, and appeared even further up the trail. It left a tendril of wispy light in its wake that was visible to her eyes alone.
“I’ve got them.” She nodded down at a ravine. “It looks like they made camp there.”
“No reason we can’t use the same site.” Nutpuncher hurried forward, his little pack bouncing as the gnome zipped across the rocks almost as quickly as she could.
Kit followed more carefully behind, and picked a slower path. Exhaustion had settled into her, and she was in no particular hurry. Once she reached camp she was about to reach into her pack for her tent, when Nutpuncher offered another solution.
“Check this out.” The gnome grinned at her as he extended a hand with a tiny house on his palm. “Stand back.”
Kick moved back to stand against the ravine’s wall, and blinked in amazement when the gnome set the house down and it began to grow. Up and up it swelled until a comfortable cottage sat between the ravine’s walls, complete with a chimney that already had a little streamer of smoke.
“Come on in.” Nutpuncher moved over to the door. “My tiny hut is well stocked. We’ve got food, graph paper, colored pencils, soda, and even some decks if you’re bored.”
The gnome pushed the door open, and stepped into a room far too large to be contained by the tiny cottage. An extra dimensional space!
She rushed in after him, and flopped down on a very comfortable couch. She could still see the moon out the window, but had all the comforts of being indoors. “Where did you get this? Aren’t tiny huts expensive?”
“Yes.” Nutpuncher hopped up on the couch, then put his feet up, and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Since monks don’t need gear I spent most of my starting loot on it. I figured it would be the gift that keeps on giving. Anyway, I’m pretty fried after that hike. Gonna call it a night.” A series of soft snores came on the heel of the final words.
That left Kit with nothing but time and her thoughts. She moved over to the part of the couch by the window, and gazed up at the melancholy crescent. A sudden sadness and longing to see Bert overcame her. Somewhere down there he was probably looking up at the very same moon.
Kit burst softly into song, the tune one she’d first heard in childhood. “Some—where down—there beneath the bright star light….”
She couldn’t remember any more words so she just hummed the rest until she drifted off to sleep.
15
Somewhere Out There
Bert woke up humming to himself. He leapt to his feet with a yawn, then reached into his pack for another box of cookies. Bert laid them all out in a row, then moved to poke Boberton awake. “Hey, boy. Breakfast!”
Bert kept a single one for himself and jammed the tasty fudge confection into his mouth in a single wonderful bite. It was rather nice not having to pack up the wagon or hook up Boberton’s harness. There was almost no camp to break down.
Instead Bert, mighty wizard Bert, summoned his dark magic. “Dirt mittens!”
Rocks and dirt flowed up from the ground, and swirled around his hands into an excellent set of mittens. Bert moved over to the strange rock, which sat there placidly, and began pushing it toward the mountain once more.
The rock was heavy, but Bert had carried packs full of copper coins. At least he could roll the rock.
They’d covered a lot more ground than he’d expected the previous day, made possible because he could endlessly erase the fatigued condition. Bert had never dreamed how much you could get done when you never got tired.
However, Bert also felt uncomfortable cheating. So each night, when he reached camp, he dutifully added back the fatigued condition, and then slept against Boberton’s soft warm fur.
Bert pushed the rock past trees and boulders, and over a stream, which proved quite a lot of fun as the magic stone produced steam that tickled his nostrils.
Boberton trotted after him the entire time, Righty’s concerned expression fixed on Bert, while Lefty looked everywhere, delighted by all the new things.
The day passed pleasantly, and Bert realized he hadn’t had to solve a single problem for someone else since he’d left Bobertown. It was wonderful! He was only responsible for himself and his dog. He might have been a tad lonely, as Boberton wasn’t a great conversationalist, but other than that Bert couldn’t have been happier.
As the day passed there were fewer and fewer trees, and more and more rocks. The slope began to rise, and Bert was covered in a nice coat of stinky sweat. Now that he had the clean spell he wouldn’t even need to bathe, either! Life was indeed good.
Bert pushed the boulder up another slope, but when he paused realized that he wasn’t alone. A dozen large green-skinned orcs sat atop their mounts sheltering beneath a rocky outcrop. They rode pigs with big tusks, who didn’t seem to much enjoy being ridden. Bert wouldn’t want an orc on his back either.
“Oy! You!” The lead orc guided his pig over with his knees. The pig wore a tight harness that cut into its skin, and seemed to constrict breathing. “Why you pushin’ that rock? Da bois think we
