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Tate trudged through the grass, keeping his profile low as he eyed the buffaloes grazing in the distance. Thoughts of a month's worth of meals crossed his mind, though the reality was a bit harsher. Selling off a significant chunk of the buffalo was in his future, necessary to cover gate fees, hunting ground expenses, and the unpredictable curveballs life threw his way.
Experience had taught Tate not to mess with the alpha buffalo. Those hefty fellows always had a gang ready to rumble, and he had no interest in becoming the main course of a buffalo brawl. Opting for a medium-sized prey, he belly-flopped onto the grass, fixating on his chosen target. The next move was straightforward—send an arrow through its eyes.
A buffalo of that size could fetch a decent twelve silvers, maybe sixteen if he engaged in some spirited haggling. Enough to cover the rent and then some. The midday sun beat down, sweat dripping from his forehead. Palms sweaty, he took a moment to focus on the task at hand. One shot, or the whole herd would scatter.
Holding his breath, Tate released the notched arrow with an audible twang. Bullseye. The buffalo crumpled, oblivious to its fate, and its companions scattered like leaves in the wind. Tate jogged over, impressed with his own precision. With a flourish, he dramatically tossed aside the now useless arrow, slinging his bow over his shoulder. The next task: dragging the buffalo by its hooves.
Groaning with every step, he ruminated on the lengthy journey back to town. Thankfully, Tate had the wisdom to hunt during daylight. Nighttime was the realm of true predators, and he had zero interest in being on their menu.
The buffalo's hide showed signs of wear, a detail that would translate to less silver at the abattoir. But the sight of the town on the horizon propelled Tate forward. Tugging harder on the carcass, he moved as if the wolves were nipping at his heels.
Finally arriving at the town's gate, Tate was greeted by acknowledging nods from the guards, Cedric and Bran. Behind the gates, cart pullers waited for their next customer.
"Evening, Cedric, and Bran, you silent mountain," Tate greeted them, a hopeful grin on his face. "Got myself a feast here."
Cedric's eyes twinkled with interest. "Looks like you hit the jackpot, Tate! What's that, a colossal chicken?"
Tate chuckled, "Nah, just a regular buffalo. Gate fee coming right up."
Tate sighed as he handed over a silver for the gate fee. "You know, if gate fees were any pricier, I'd have to start considering climbing over the walls or digging a secret tunnel. Maybe I'll become a professional tunnel digger, less dangerous than hunting buffaloes."
Cedric laughed, slapping Tate on the back. "Well, you've got a talent for dramatic entrances, but we prefer the fee in silvers."
Tate shot a glance at the bustling town. "Speaking of silvers, how's a guy supposed to afford a house around here? I can barely afford a pot to cook my buffalo stew in."
Bran, the silent giant, raised an eyebrow. "Maybe if you weren't risking your life hunting oversized cows, you'd have more savings."
Tate chuckled. "True, true. But you know what they say, Bran, you can't save for a rainy day when your job involves getting wet."
As they bantered, Tate couldn't help but think about the girl he had his eye on. "You know, if I could afford more than just a shabby room at the inn, maybe I'd have a shot with Lily."
Cedric winked. "Lily, huh? She's got expensive taste, my friend. You'd need more than silvers to impress her."
Tate rolled his eyes. "I've got charm and wit, Cedric. That should count for something."
Bran grunted, "And a buffalo carcass, apparently."
As reached to go through the gate, Cedric stopped Tate with a grin. "Hold on, Tate. Gate fee's gone up. I'll need an extra silver."
Tate sighed but handed over the additional silver. "You guys are bleeding me dry. What's next, a tax for breathing the town's air?"
Cedric leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. "Actually, there might be something you'd want to know. Rich-looking adventurers are in town, looking for a skilled archer. They're at the Old Oak Inn, planning to move out tomorrow."
Tate's interest perked up. "Rich-looking adventurers? You mean, with shiny armor and swords that practically scream 'I've got more money than sense'?"
Cedric nodded. "Exactly. Word is, they need someone who can shoot straight. Might be worth checking out."
As Tate dragged his buffalo towards the abattoir, he mulled over the information. "Rich adventurers needing an archer? Maybe this is my ticket to a pot that isn't held together by duct tape."
After successfully selling off most of the buffalo and stashing his share with the inn's cook, Tate made his way to the Old Oak Inn. The idea of joining a group of well-funded adventurers sounded like the perfect solution to his financial woes.
