TravelingDreamer
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Chapter 16: Making A New Friend?
🕑 Added 2024-05-01 19:27:20 +0000 UTCThe next morning, I took my time packing up my camp. My gaze kept drifting to the surrounding view, trying to drink it all in. The lake shimmered in the early light like someone had scattered crushed diamonds over its surface. A waterfall tumbled down the distant cliffside, mist curling at its base and giving it an ethereal look. Everything was vibrant and alive—lushness that looked almost unreal after so many years of living in cities.
For a moment, I just stood there, wishing I could bottle the scene and freeze it in time somehow. I took out my camera—
—and froze, then groaned and facepalmed.
Right. That was another thing I’d forgotten.
My plan had been to develop the film from the mountaintop shots I’d taken across the Gate in the Black Forest to see if the camera still worked in a fantasy world—or if mana interfered with the film or the camera itself. But now… now it was starting to feel like maybe I’d jumped the gun leaving Earth.
It was time to see if cameras still worked in this world. I unpacked the darkroom tent and staked it down in a small clearing between two trees. The early light filtered through the canopy, casting shifting patterns across the shore. I couldn’t resist the pull of the scenery around me. Grabbing my camera, I set out to capture the landscape before the light changed.
The lake came first. Its surface caught the morning sun like somebody had sprinkled it with glitter, the reflections rippling with the breeze. I framed a few shots from the shoreline, then turned toward the waterfall. It crashed down the jagged cliffside, framed by mossy stone and thick vines. The mist at its base caught rainbows whenever the angle was just right. I took several shots from below before my ego dared me to climb higher.
Scrambling up the side of the waterfall wasn’t exactly graceful. My boots slipped more than once, and the spray soaked through my clothes. But I made it to a narrow ledge, heart thudding, lungs burning, and grinning like a fool. From there, I captured the whole basin below.
Next, I pushed my kayak to the center of the lake as a memento of my epic waterfall jump. As a private joke, I stuck my paddle into a tree near camp and snapped a few photos. I could already picture the future me shaking my head at the memory and the pictures.
Once I’d reassembled my camp and changed into dry clothes, I set a bottle of wine and a glass on the table and framed the shot carefully—the lake in the background, the wine catching the sun. That was the final click. The last shot in the roll.
Inside the darkroom tent, my mood shifted, and my belly tightened with anticipation. Since I needed my hands free to work, I couldn’t keep my fingers crossed, but I held them crossed mentally.
Please let this work!
I kept the pencil sketching skill in case cameras didn’t work, but I really didn’t feel like sketching for hours. Taking pictures was much more fun and a lot more expedient.
I unrolled the film in the lightproof sleeve, my hands moving by feel alone, and mixed the chemical baths. Developer, stop bath, fixer—each one had to be measured precisely and timed to the second. The sharp, stinging scent of the chemicals filled the space, a harsh contrast to the fresh, earthy air outside.
Every step was deliberate. Too much time in the developer, and the negatives would be ruined. Not enough, and the images wouldn’t appear at all. My fingers trembled slightly, not from fear but from the tension of wanting this to work. It had to work. Traveling without taking pictures sounded like a travesty. An insult to the natural order of the world.
I leaned over the first tray, waiting. Watching. This time, fingers physically crossed.
For color prints, I needed to use an enlarger to project the images from the negatives onto photographic paper. Without an electrical light source, I had to get creative. The challenge was finding a way to direct sunlight with enough precision and consistency to do the job. I improvised by setting up a series of mirrors outside the tent, carefully angled to catch and reflect the sunlight through a small opening I cut into the tent’s fabric. It wasn’t exactly a professional setup—more like a half-baked science experiment—but I held my fingers crossed, again. The tricky part was keeping the light steady and balanced. Too dim, and nothing would show. Too harsh, and everything would burn out. The mirrors needed constant fiddling to chase the moving sun.
The first few pictures were disasters. The light was too strong, overexposing the prints and bleaching out every detail until all that remained were bright blotches. I cursed under my breath, repositioned the mirrors, and tried again. The next round came out muddy and dim, the sunlight too weak to do more than leave ghostly outlines on the paper.
I kept shifting the angles of the mirrors, tilting them by just a hair, waiting for clouds to pass, testing one frame at a time. It took hours. Time inside the tent warped into a blur of light, chemicals, and increasingly stained fingers.
Then finally, everything clicked. The sunlight hit the paper at just the right strength and angle. I held my breath as the images emerged, layer by layer, like watching a secret being revealed. And there it was—the shimmering lake, the cascading waterfall, the jagged cliffs bathed in morning light. The colors were vivid and true, catching every nuance the camera had managed to preserve. One shot captured the waterfall from the ledge I’d climbed, perfectly showing the drop and the mist below. Another froze my kayak mid-lake, a single dark shape floating in a sea of reflected sky.
As I hung the prints to dry, I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. The sense of accomplishment was overwhelming. I did it! Taking photographs in a magical world was possible. I couldn’t contain my joy, so I did a quick shimmy to celebrate but immediately stopped, feeling self-conscious. Even though I was alone, the habit of maintaining a professional composure was hard to shake.
The final photograph—a still life of a bottle of wine and a wineglass on the table—was the perfect end to the roll. It captured the spirit of the moment and was an ideal memento of this surreal adventure, blending the ordinary with the extraordinary.
By the time I finished, the sun was already dipping low, so I stayed another day.
The following day, I packed everything for the last time, slid the kayak into the water, and paddled out of the grotto. The river beyond was wider and shallower and moved with a lazy current—more of a meander than a flow. That suited me just fine. I let the rhythm of the paddle take over, drifting for hours as the sun climbed higher.
In the early afternoon, I reached a large rock outcropping where the river curled sharply around, turning more than a hundred degrees. After studying the Map, I didn’t like the idea of doubling back, so I left the river to continue north on foot.
The river’s north bank was wooded, but the forest wasn’t as dense as before. The trees here were shorter, their canopies sparse, letting much more sunlight reach the forest floor. Unfortunately, that meant more light for the underbrush to thrive. Thorny vines, waist-high shrubs as thick as a hedge, and tangles of roots created an obstacle course. I had to use the machete and hack my way forward like clearing a jungle trail.
After forcing my way through a particularly thick patch of bushes, I stepped into a clearing—and stopped cold.
There was a wolf standing across from me, and it looked terrible.
Its fur, once probably thick and healthy, hung in clumps—patchy and caked with dirt. It was so thin I could see each rib clearly. Its legs looked too frail to support its weight, and its stomach was drawn tight against its spine. It looked like it hadn’t eaten in weeks. Its teeth were unusually long, and it made sure I saw them, baring them with vicious growls.
I didn’t move. My body locked up, muscles coiled tight, every instinct warning me not to flinch. Predators could smell fear. One wrong move and this thing would celebrate a self-delivering takeaway meal.
But I couldn’t stay frozen forever. Slowly, I shifted my weight and took a careful step back.
The wolf lunged.
I reacted before I had time to think. My hands shot up, catching its front legs mid-air. Its momentum carried it forward, and I used it against it. I pivoted, shifted my center of gravity, and hurled it sideways with everything I had.
The sound it made when it hit the tree was brutal. A sharp crack. I couldn’t tell if the tree or the wolf broke. It hit the ground in a twisted heap, whimpering, blood already matting its filthy fur. I stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched. It didn’t get up. Just lay there twitching and whimpering.
I felt guilty. Sure, it had attacked me, but I’d stepped into its clearing. Its territory.
I took a slow breath and crouched slightly, keeping my posture low as I approached. Step by step, I watched its eyes. It was still breathing hard, chest hitching with every shallow rise and fall, but it didn’t move until I reached out with my hand.
It tried to bite me.
I slapped its muzzle, not hard, but enough to make a point. "Stop that!"
It let out a sharp whine, drawing its head back.
"Yeah, I didn’t like that either," I said, then shifted to a firmer tone. "Sorry for hitting you. But no biting."
I cast Diagnose, and the results were grim. Both of its front shoulders were dislocated. Four ribs were broken, two of them splintered. Internal and external bleeding. One hind leg was a complete mess—old breaks that had healed wrong, muscles torn and fused with scar tissue. The whole thing looked like the wolf had been limping for years.
I started with the worst of the bleeding and cast Healing Touch to stop it. I needed one cast for each bleeding point, and it had several. When I moved to one of the ribs, it tensed again, eyes narrowing. The snarl came slower this time, more warning than rage, but it still tried to bite me. At least it was slower now.
I didn’t want to hit it again—not in this condition—so I tried something different.
Summoning a thick wool sock from Storage, I gently grabbed its head and slid it over its muzzle. It growled low, clearly not a fan, but didn’t fight me.
"It’s your own fault for trying to bite me," I said, adjusting the sock. "Try not to chew through it, alright?"
With that handled, I focused on the ribs. One by one, I mended them. I gently rotated its front legs and popped both shoulders back into place with a quiet pop that made us both flinch. Then I cast Healing Touch one more time to solidify the fixed shoulders and give it a general "get well."
Much better.
I slipped the sock off slowly, watching its reaction. It didn’t growl this time. Instead, it leaned forward and licked my hand.
I scratched behind one of its filthy ears. "Sorry for throwing you so hard," I said softly. "I didn’t realize how strong I’ve gotten."
It let out a soft huff, between a sigh and a grunt, and settled its head on its paws.
We understood each other now.
I diagnosed it again and confirmed it was healed, but somehow, it looked even more emaciated. It was as if the healing magic had burned through its already depleted reserves. The poor thing looked like it had been hollowed out.
I summoned a couple of steaks, thick and juicy, and barely had time to blink before it devoured them in a single bite, hardly chewing. I cast Diagnose again and followed up with another Healing Touch. This time, I felt the food breaking down in its stomach, the nutrients being absorbed almost instantly.
I gave it two more steaks. The digestion slowed slightly, which was a good sign. Finally, we were on the right track. I fed and healed it another three times, alternating between food and magic. Slowly, its body began to fill out. It was still thin and fragile but no longer skeletal.
I summoned a bowl and filled it with water. It drank eagerly, slurping noisily, and I finally had a chance to sit down and breathe. That’s when I noticed the bowl.
When I summoned it, I hadn’t pictured a specific bowl—just the vague concept of “a bowl.” And now here I was, sitting in the middle of a forest with a filthy, half-starved wolf drinking from what looked like a priceless heirloom. The thing was absurdly ornate, made of smoky crystal and etched with golden vines and bunches of grapes, like it belonged on a king’s banquet table.
It was so ridiculous I burst out laughing. I had to take a picture. Or three.
The wolf finished drinking and licked my hand again, its tongue warm and surprisingly gentle. I reached out and scratched behind one ear. My fingers came back sticky with dried blood and bits of leaves. Right. Still a mess.
I cast Clean three times. Each pass stripped away more grime, and by the end, the wolf looked like it had just returned from a luxury grooming session. Its coat fluffed up, clean and soft, and it even smelled halfway decent.
After feeding it a bit more and layering on additional healing, I could see steady improvement. Its general condition climbed toward normal, but the hind leg remained untouched. That leg was a wreck—twisted from old breaks, muscle torn and fused wrong, all wrapped in thick scar tissue. It had to be re-broken and properly reset. The torn muscle would have to be cut open and reattached. But there was a problem.
When I bought my medical inventory, I focused on equipment. I didn’t have any anesthetics or sedatives—nothing to knock it unconscious or dull the pain. Operating on a conscious patient wasn’t an option. That would be torture, plain and simple.
I sat cross-legged on the forest floor, one hand resting on its now-clean fur, fingers absently combing through the soft patch behind its ear as I tried to think of a solution.
Maybe put a plastic bag over its muzzle and monitor it until it passes out?
No. Too risky. It might wake up in the middle of the operation, and that would be worse than doing nothing.
I sighed. Relying too much on magic without thinking through the practical side had clearly been a mistake.
Wait… magic!
Sitting upright, I pulled up the Healing magic section again. This time, nothing was grayed out. Every spell was accessible.
I knew it. It was ability-related. Or maybe class-locked.
I looked up at the sky and narrowed my eyes. “Don’t you think my class description is misleading? It says I can buy any spell or skill, but we both know that’s not true.”
Again, the same feeling of rebuke washed over me, like a stern reprimand from the universe. But this time, I was proud of myself. I didn’t hyperventilate. I might’ve jumped a little, but I didn’t hyperventilate. Progress.
And then I found it.
ANESTHESIA
This channeled spell induces a controlled, magical unconsciousness, allowing for painless treatment or surgery. Commonly used by healers, surgeons, and caretakers, it renders the target unconscious without harming vital functions. Mana is consumed steadily throughout the duration of the channel, with longer procedures requiring greater reserves. As the spell rises in level, mana consumption decreases, making it more efficient for extended use.
Cost: 1 Ability Point.
“Yes!” I grinned, practically bouncing where I sat. I almost forgave the system, but the jury was still out.
After summoning a table, I covered it with a plastic sheet, cast Anesthesia on the wolf, and lifted it onto the surface. I made the first incision with a scalpel—and immediately ran into a problem. Anesthesia was a channeled spell, not a one-time cast. The moment the skin parted, blood welled up fast. I tried to grab the blood with Control Blood, but Anesthesia stopped. The wolf shifted slightly, twitching.
How was I supposed to keep it under, control the bleeding, and simultaneously heal everything?
I immediately stopped, cursed under my breath, and healed the minor damage. I wasn’t about to experiment with an unconscious, injured animal and risk waking it mid-surgery. That was a one-way ticket to disaster.
I stood over the table, staring down at the wolf, its breathing slow and peaceful. It had no idea how complicated this was turning out to be.
The core problem was clear: Anesthesia needed to be channeled constantly. That tied up my focus. As soon as I tried to cast anything else, the spell slipped. My mind could only hold one spell at a time.
I tried again. This time, I braced myself, cast Anesthesia, and slowly attempted to weave a second thread of magic to stem the bleeding. I got further—maybe a second or two—but then Anesthesia slipped again.
I gritted my teeth and healed the minor nick. Again.
I tried casting Anesthesia with less focus, letting it run in the background, but it didn’t work either. The moment my attention shifted, it faded. It wasn’t a fire-and-forget kind of spell. It needed active maintenance.
I paced the clearing, hands on my hips, muttering to myself. I even tried whispering commands to the magic, hoping it might listen.
Two hours passed.
The wolf remained unconscious, curled on the table, napping in the sun. I sat cross-legged on the ground, brow furrowed, trying to think outside the box. Somewhere in the mess of failed attempts, I had a thought. It wasn’t a fully formed idea—more like a baby thought. A memory of how it felt to split my attention during Krav Maga training, monitoring the environment while tracking the attacker.
What if I could do that here?
I cast Anesthesia again, carefully holding the thread of it in my mind. Then, I didn’t cast a second spell but visualized it. Focused on the idea of casting something else while keeping the first one steady. It slipped and faltered.
Again.
This time, I imagined my mind as a flat surface and tried to lay one spell down beside the other instead of stacking them. I failed again.
Hmm. If I can’t cast two spells at the same time, I need two minds—one for each spell. Is that even possible? I rubbed my chin. Well, my magic did follow my intention before. I shrugged. Worth a try.
Instead of multitasking, I imagined partitioning my mind. Dividing it into two distinct halves. It wasn’t natural. It felt like trying to split a single eye and force it to look in two directions at once. The sensation was awful, as if my thoughts were shattering like glass and scattering in all directions.
But it worked.
I managed to cast Control Blood while keeping Anesthesia active. My mind trembled under the strain—it felt like my psyche broke. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my hands shook, but the wolf remained still. Both spells held.
I almost cried.
I didn’t, but it was close.
With renewed determination and a clearer strategy, I made the first incision along the wolf’s hind leg. The skin parted cleanly, revealing the badly healed fractures beneath. The old breaks had fused at awkward angles.
I took out the medical chisel and mallet and lined them up. One precise tap. Then another.
The audible crack made me wince, even though I knew it had to be done. The bone shifted under the pressure, breaking where it needed to. Blood surged instantly. I clenched my jaw and focused, pushing magic into the Control Blood spell while maintaining Anesthesia.
That was two spells. My mind shook from the effort.
I reached for Heal Bone, trying to split my mind a third way—but it was too much. The moment I reached for the spell, everything collapsed. Both active spells unraveled, and I lost control completely.
Cursing under my breath, I immediately reestablished Anesthesia to keep the wolf under. Then I cast Heal Bone, watching as the fractured ends shifted into place with a quiet, satisfying click. Magic flowed down through the marrow, sealing the break and reinforcing it.
Once the bone was stable, I turned my attention back to the bleeding. I reestablished Control Blood, though not fast enough to prevent heavy blood loss. I grimaced at the sight. It was far more than I would’ve liked.
It was a mistake not to buy a hemostat or clamps. I focused on equipment instead of drugs, and still missed a few things. That was on me. I’d leaned too heavily on magic and hadn’t packed for actual field surgery. Definitely left Earth too fast. I compensated as best I could, and cast Healing Touch to restore blood volume and stabilize the wolf before repeating the process for the second misaligned fracture.
With both bones finally healed, I turned my attention to the deeper damage—torn muscle fibers that had healed into ugly knots of scar tissue. With steady hands, I carefully cut away the necrotic tissue, then released the blood control again to cast Heal Muscle. The spell surged into the tissue… and the newly exposed ends healed.
Grrr!
Again, I cut the tips to expose “live” tissue, narrowed my eyes in concentration, slowed my breathing, and pushed a targeted pulse of magic into one of the muscle ends, willing it to stretch and reach. This time, directing “free magic” to do what I wanted was easier than before. Maybe because I knew it was possible, so there was less fighting and pushing involved. I knew it could work, so there was no effort, just pure intention. It responded slowly, inching forward. Millimeter by painful millimeter, the fibers extended until they finally met the opposite side and fused.
It worked, but I felt the toll immediately. My head started to hurt—not a pounding headache yet, but an uncomfortable pressure that I knew would get worse. I cast another Healing Touch to stabilize the wolf’s vitals and moved on to the next section. One by one, I removed the scar tissue and reconnected the muscles.
The wolf lost a lot of blood from my repeated starts and stops. I cast three more Healing Touches, stabilizing it again, but I could see it had paid the price. Half the healthy mass it had gained earlier was gone, and its skin hung looser again. It was dehydrated and thinner, almost hollow.
Magic, as it turned out, wasn’t a panacea.
Bummer.
I cast Purify to prevent infection, followed up with three Clean spells to ensure everything—the wolf, the tools, the table, and me—was clean, and finally released the Anesthesia spell. My brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. Lightheaded and shaky, I barely noticed the wolf stirring until it twitched and almost rolled off the table.
It stumbled toward the water bowl and drank like it hadn’t tasted water in days. I gave it more food, watched it eat with mechanical focus, and cast another two Healing Touches to be on the safe side.
After the second, the world tilted sideways, and black and yellow spots appeared in my field of vision.
I caught myself on the edge of the table, heart pounding, and checked my mana.
30/4200.
4,200?! It was 3,000 before. How the hell does my mana work?
Still feeling woozy, I lay on my back and breathed in mana.
After a while, I felt better and opened my eyes. The sky above was shifting from the bright colors of the sunset to the deeper hues of twilight, branches swaying gently overhead. I lay flat on my back in the grass, head still pounding. Beside me, the wolf had curled up close, its head resting on my chest. I petted it, fingers drifting through the surprisingly soft fur absentmindedly.
My stomach felt glued to my back, rumbling like a monster, as if I were the one who had undergone surgery. I sat up with effort and took out an enormous meal—stacked hamburgers dripping with sauce, golden fries, and a mountain of creamy coleslaw in a clear takeaway box.
Before I could take a bite, the wolf perked up, nose twitching. It stuck its face right into the box like it had dibs.
I pushed its head away—none too gently. "No! This is mine. You got yours."
It pulled back and looked at me with ridiculous, oversized, sad puppy eyes.
I stared back.
It kept staring.
I'm a weak, weak man.
I sighed and gave it an enormous piece of roast. It chomped happily, tail thumping rhythmically against the ground.
After eating my fill, I cast Clean on myself, and the world wobbled again. My knees buckled slightly, and I had to sit back down. Lightheaded again. Pushing any further today was a bad idea.
Staying in the clearing for a day or two to regenerate my mana sounded like a good idea. I pitched my tent at the edge of the clearing, lit a small fire, and drank a beer while staring into the flames. When I finally ducked into the tent to sleep, the wolf followed right after me like it had always lived there, then tried to shove me over to steal part of the mattress.
I raised an eyebrow.
It licked my cheek.
I sighed, took out a thick, fluffy duvet, and laid it beside me.
The wolf sniffed it once, gave an approving little huff, and circled before plopping down. Then, looking way too smug for a wild forest creature, it licked my face again and flopped over with a contented sigh.
