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It's been almost a whole year since we last left Harta! https://www.furaffinity.net/view/57263029/ Here's what happened next.
No food or water. No idea where he was. No tools or company to mine the fortune of gems glittering around him, save for a few broken gems on the cave floor. He collected these.
The fog was clearing up outside the cave, revealing the wrinkled terrain of the mountain. The temperature was at least tolerable; his subspecies thrived in the cold. But beyond that, he was not built for surviving. He lifted his nightshirt off and used the sharpest rocks to divide it into parts. He wadded up the pieces and tied one around each of his four paws. Then he ventured out.
His job didn't require much labor at all, so he knew he wasn't in the best shape, but he ran out of breath much sooner than he expected. Hunger and thirst also nagged at him. Many rocks were edible to his species, but none around him were identifiable, small, soft, or prepared enough. Nor did they make for a balanced diet.
A hundred complaints and doubts against the gods rumbled in his heart but never made it to words. After a brief rest he found plenty of reserves in him to continue. Though the air was brisk, he could feel his skin sizzle under the sun's rays. He squinted under its light. If his eyes weren't lying, there was the faintest outline of a path on the ground. "Zenzidi!" he said in thanks. He followed the path along the rolling crags, until a small mountain town appeared.
The place seemed to be welcoming. He followed the smell of food into an inn and parked himself in front of a table. He spoke his own language for the satiation of it, but it was clear it would be a barrier. Back home, he wasn't good with words except when talking about his industry. Here he at least had an excuse.
He gestured and drew in the air. "Anything. Anything is better than starving." Knowing nothing in life was free and aiming for negotiating room, he took one carefully chosen sliver of the gems he had collected and held it out in his fat hand. Surely this was worth food and lodging for a night or two.
The innkeeper regarded it with a pitying grin. They gestured around the room where gems of the same color were everywhere. Wall decorations, jewelry, the very windows were made of them. He spotted on one table a few gems cut and polished in a geometric shape that looked to be the proper currency. "Bunk," Harta whisper-cursed.
Later on he cursed much more loudly as the sunburns blotched all over his torso and tailtip. He grudgingly did chores, which machines and the Zheen-Ki name couldn't rescue him from, to earn his food and rest. The innkeeper, hoping to end his complaining, held a small half-full flask of oil and shook some drops out onto their hand, suggesting a skin treatment. Harta took it greedily and emptied it onto himself, but was only able to cover most of his arms and his broad snout, the most exposed part of him. It helped minimally.
It took a few days, but eventually he earned enough to gain a hastily-assembled outfit of mountain gear: A light coat, two pairs of human hiking boots, and a lower garment stitched together from a tablecloth. He was also offered a saddle for its convenient saddlebags, but he refused. He didn't know how to tell them that where he was from, saddles were considered women's wear, designed for carrying young. Not that it mattered very much here, where he was the only nalvot, but it was still an unhappy reminder of the pressure of marriage -- something he'd been trying to forget.
He wondered what the gods had sent him here to learn. He wished he could learn it fast and go home. But if he was going to be here for a while, he was keen on finding some sturdier civilization, or else creating some.
No food or water. No idea where he was. No tools or company to mine the fortune of gems glittering around him, save for a few broken gems on the cave floor. He collected these.
The fog was clearing up outside the cave, revealing the wrinkled terrain of the mountain. The temperature was at least tolerable; his subspecies thrived in the cold. But beyond that, he was not built for surviving. He lifted his nightshirt off and used the sharpest rocks to divide it into parts. He wadded up the pieces and tied one around each of his four paws. Then he ventured out.
His job didn't require much labor at all, so he knew he wasn't in the best shape, but he ran out of breath much sooner than he expected. Hunger and thirst also nagged at him. Many rocks were edible to his species, but none around him were identifiable, small, soft, or prepared enough. Nor did they make for a balanced diet.
A hundred complaints and doubts against the gods rumbled in his heart but never made it to words. After a brief rest he found plenty of reserves in him to continue. Though the air was brisk, he could feel his skin sizzle under the sun's rays. He squinted under its light. If his eyes weren't lying, there was the faintest outline of a path on the ground. "Zenzidi!" he said in thanks. He followed the path along the rolling crags, until a small mountain town appeared.
The place seemed to be welcoming. He followed the smell of food into an inn and parked himself in front of a table. He spoke his own language for the satiation of it, but it was clear it would be a barrier. Back home, he wasn't good with words except when talking about his industry. Here he at least had an excuse.
He gestured and drew in the air. "Anything. Anything is better than starving." Knowing nothing in life was free and aiming for negotiating room, he took one carefully chosen sliver of the gems he had collected and held it out in his fat hand. Surely this was worth food and lodging for a night or two.
The innkeeper regarded it with a pitying grin. They gestured around the room where gems of the same color were everywhere. Wall decorations, jewelry, the very windows were made of them. He spotted on one table a few gems cut and polished in a geometric shape that looked to be the proper currency. "Bunk," Harta whisper-cursed.
Later on he cursed much more loudly as the sunburns blotched all over his torso and tailtip. He grudgingly did chores, which machines and the Zheen-Ki name couldn't rescue him from, to earn his food and rest. The innkeeper, hoping to end his complaining, held a small half-full flask of oil and shook some drops out onto their hand, suggesting a skin treatment. Harta took it greedily and emptied it onto himself, but was only able to cover most of his arms and his broad snout, the most exposed part of him. It helped minimally.
It took a few days, but eventually he earned enough to gain a hastily-assembled outfit of mountain gear: A light coat, two pairs of human hiking boots, and a lower garment stitched together from a tablecloth. He was also offered a saddle for its convenient saddlebags, but he refused. He didn't know how to tell them that where he was from, saddles were considered women's wear, designed for carrying young. Not that it mattered very much here, where he was the only nalvot, but it was still an unhappy reminder of the pressure of marriage -- something he'd been trying to forget.
He wondered what the gods had sent him here to learn. He wished he could learn it fast and go home. But if he was going to be here for a while, he was keen on finding some sturdier civilization, or else creating some.
Category Artwork (Digital) / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 2560 x 1440px
File Size 1.03 MB
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