The Hunt - Dream Team + BBH

Chapter 4: The Village Cleric

Clay was a very fortunate man.

Despite his troubling predicaments the day prior and earlier in the night, he'd managed to avoid many attacks from monstrous assailants. He'd set up a few torches around the area, the fire and light warding off any creatures who may have otherwise approached. One or two curious zombies had wandered into his cave, but they'd been relatively easy to dispatch. A few swipes of his new iron sword and they'd met their end - for the second and final time.

Clay had managed to collect a bit of iron before his encounter with the zombie the day before, finding another small vein after mining out some stone later in the evening. Smelting the ore, he'd managed to craft a few small things, such a sword, pickaxe, and an axe. He'd had enough left over iron for a helmet, but had instead decided upon a bucket instead.

Now, as sunlight from the growing dawn began to filter through the leaves of the trees above, Clay's gaze shifted back to the potion his sister had given him. He'd completely forgotten about it after being attacked, and upon eventually remembering he'd tore through his bag to ensure it hadn't been broken. The fact that he'd been able to see his bag had almost been enough to calm his worries, but he'd still wanted to be sure. Having it made him feel a tad guilty. It was against the law for him to have it, but so was everything else he'd done the previous morning. Not being gone before the village woke up... seeing his sister...

Clay let out a deep sigh. He wasn't a superstitious man, but he was almost positive he'd cursed himself to fail.

With the sun rising, Clay began to pack up his thinks, placing his items into his bag. His belt had a sheath for his sword and a holster for his axe as well, having cheekily sewed them to his belt the day before leaving his village.

Allowing a small yawn to escape him, he left the safety of his cave, moving back into the forest. Truthfully, he'd never ventured very far from the village. He'd never been allowed for fear he'd be killed before he could go after the dragon. His village wasn't to keen on waiting another twenty-one years, even though they all knew how likely it was. No one had offered him anything but praise in the days before he'd left, but he wasn't stupid. Clay could hear the somber undertone, the way they'd sometimes avert his eyes or give his hand a comforting squeeze. They hadn't seemed to understand that Clay wasn't going to fail. He wouldn't allow himself to.

Even if he'd never left, he'd studied every map he could. He knew where the Stronghold was, and he knew of landmarks along the path. Clay was well-aware of where he was headed, and at this rate he'd reach his first stop by nightfall.

The forest was relatively peaceful, most monsters having fled to caves in order to avoid burning in the sunlight as it filtered through the leaves. Around mid-day he'd come across a small family of cows. The parents were dead within minutes, Clay having snuck around in order to avoid sending them running. As he stood over the bodies of its parents, the smallest cow stumbled away, letting out rather high-pitched, distressed noises as it vanished deeper into the foliage. Clay's gaze followed it until it vanished. If it were worth much, he might've gone after it, but it was still too small for it to provide any good, lean meat, and it's hide was too thin for proper leather. The only thing killing it would do is waste Clay's weapons durability.

Within an hour Clay finished collecting what resources he could from the cows. He got a good bit of leather from them, which he'd probably be able to sell, as well as some meat he could cook later on.

He hummed a bit to himself as he continued through the oak forest. Clay passed a few more animals along the way, mostly fleet-footed rabbits that darted away before he could move to catch them. The day past by relatively quickly as he passed through the foliage and undergrowth.