Carving a heavy branch while behind my house, I’m approached by the young girl I saw on the first night.

   She gets closer taking cautious steps before speaking up with a nervous tone, “Hi! I’m Susa.”

   Pausing from my work I greet her, “Yes, hello”

   I’ve had a good deal of practice at talking over the past few days. Mainly I've been get asked questions about the forest, and give answers that are based on my modern knowledge with some mystical bullshitting to keep up my bizarre farce of an identity. Children have been more reticent to greet me than the adults. I had feared they could see through the act, but I forgot how imposing of a figure I cast especially to small children. However, my frightening appearance can't stop the curiosity of a child. Such as Susa

   She asks me,“Dryad why are leaves green?”

   Something I only know, because I can't go around being green and not know why, “Green makes eating sunlight easier for the plants.”

   She doesn't continue with a trail of whys, question each answer I give. Instead running back the way she came, probably to brag about talking to the scary dryad.

   Dryads, after hearing the story from Mari, can typically be Identified by having some form of plant growing on or replacing a part of them. As for the story, the village has been using oral communication to try an preserve it's stories for most of its short history. Their abundance of books is a rather recent development do impart to having Hane.

   I’ve stopped hunting, having cooked too many cracklings.¹The crisp bits that remain after rendering fat from meat Which are a byproduct from getting the pelts I needed. I’ve also been trading the excess with the locals. They are fairly multi-talented, owing to the difficulties in pursuing specialization without advanced infrastructure.

   There’s only one man in the village who even calls himself a hunter, but almost every man here has hunted. The purpose of the trading was to get some oil, and cloth. Getting corn oil was the easier of the two to get, as no one here owns a an animal that can be sheered, most of their cloth is acquired from the caravan that travels out here. Fortunately though what I needed was only a rags worth. If it was easier to acquire I could have made a straw filled bed or pillow or even just a light padding on the ground.

   What I need more urgently though is a trust-worthy weapon. Yes, my knife is good, but it lacks in power and reach, as well as standing out to anyone who knows what steel is. Most metal items around here are made of lower quality iron. So with little resources I must head back to the basics, a big stick.

   Starting with a healthy and strong tree branch, I’ve shaved the general shape into a long cudgel with a rounded head at the top. Then carving it to give finer details, such as putting some rough cursive writing on it. In hope that it gives off the mystic feeling befitting my assumed identity. The writing will never be read by anyone as it is of a language not of this world. The cursive inscription upon the cudgel list various names of plants.

   Moving to the next step, I prepare to preserve the wood. Using my integrated electric torch, and recently acquired rag and corn oil. Place the carved wood on some stones, I begin. The process is slow, allowing for only the outermost layers of the wood to char while not burning the inside. With great care I move from one side to the other. With a delicate hand I succeed in properly charring the entirety of the exterior, except for the point at which I started.

   It's a blemish, but it does also add character. 

   After charring the loose soot is to be brush away. The optimal tool for this would be steel wool, but I make do with extra elbow grease and my rag. Having wiped down the wood, the rag has become black as coal. With the necessity of a clean rag to continue, I clean it using the wells water. Free of soot, I apply oil to the rag and spread it along the wood. Creating another protective barrier, when the oil dries and gets absorbed.

   I learned this method of wood preservation from a carpenter that had built himself a wooden fortress, perhaps ironically he burnt to death inside it when some raiders started Molotoving it. The method of charring makes the wood insect, fire, and weather resistant. The oil adds to that, but does make it more flammable. There are many other methods of wood preservation, But I don’t know how to make tar, creosote or proper paint. This however will suffice for the simple task of bashing heads.

   With the cudgel drying, I clean the rag again. As another reason I wanted the rag was to have something other than leaves for wiping my ass. To help with my concerns of hygiene is the villages soap making day being after tomorrow. They take their gathered ashes to make lye, and and combine it with animal oils to produce soap. Which is related to why I need a proper weapon.

   A few days ago I had been approached by the village hunter. He had a rather roguish appearance, “We haven’t talked yet, but I’m Dalp the hunter.”

   Stopping from my general loitering I greeted him, “Hello.”

   While pointing at my hood he said, “its pretty obvious you can hunt yourself as you even caught a Arfdol”

   I had thought of it as a rat-wolf due to the hairless tail it had, “Yes, and?”

   He spoke in a cajoling manner, “We’re low on the fat needed for soap making, so I was planning to hunt for a boar.”

   While boars are fairly dangerous that is in large part from their numbers, “Takes two for that?”

   He wavered for a bit, “Well no, but this one is different. It remains out of my reach, but the tracks it leaves are often spaced with large gaps between them, even in the muddier of places.”

   Having made up my mind I told him, “interesting, I will need time to prepare.”

   With a confident smile he replied, “And I still need to find where it lives.”

   With that we parted and got to work. I hadn’t yet needed a proper weapon, because I was alone and didn’t have to hide my abilities. The creatures around here also aren't too formidable. Which according to the locals isn't the norm. Something to do with the presence of the breathless forest keeping away larger predators.

Armored99

Last time I asked for feedback, I've yet to receive any. This time I'm not asking, Give me what I want or I tell you the third reason for needing the rag.