Something's Amiss

--- Kuttle, Riddle Residence

There was but one thing on his mind the moment he returned home. Alas, with the daylight dwindling and the hut left untouched, the boy made the thoughts wait. He wasn't done with ignoring the people who lashed out at him, his mother included, but he wasn't going to risk the mayhem that would arise if he were to neglect his other duties. So, he rushed around the house with vigor, dragging out rugs and beating them senseless, sweeping out ash and soot from the heart of the oven, and bringing in dried clothes for folding. He ate early and with purpose, then retreated into his room for decidedly the rest of the night, leaving no chance that he'd be bothered and interrogated.

After he barricaded the barrier between his nook and the rest of the hut with a smartly-placed chair, he sat against the sloped wall and stared at the tiny door. Complete and utter silence. Perfect.

He lunged for the corner of his small room, where in wait rested his books and old bag atop them. He flung it off and grabbed them. His pocketbook of Leutherian beasts, then his tale of the volvemo adventurer. He took the latter and buried into a few pillows.

For the first time, however, he felt strange opening it. He'd encountered something very new, something very much not on paper. It felt strange turning to his old inspiration when something real might be just outside his door.

Alas, before his thoughts could explore, a familiar croak erupted in the corner of his room. "Is something the matter, adventurer?"

The boy grit his teeth and straightened.

"I can't even keep you out of my room, now?"

He looked toward the voice. The goat-like beast was at rest on a strewn elk hide, staring at him with those taunting, yellow eyes.

"You're the one who can't make up his mind. If you want me gone, make me disappear."

"It's not that easy." The boy looked at the door again, and back down at the book. "I met real adventurers."

"What of it?"

The boy smiled and played with the corner of the book. "They're really cool. Just like I'd imagined they'd look. And I got to talk to them."

"But they left you behind, it seems."

The boy hesitated. "Well, yeah, but I'm sure they had their reasons. They're adventurers, it's their job to protect us."

The beast grinned and said nothing.

"And, like, I asked them how to be like them. They told me I just shouldn't listen to other people's rules."

"And you listened to them?"

"Well-- Well, yeah. I don't see why I shouldn't listen to them. They're respected for a reason. A lot, actually. Besides, if that's all it takes to be an adventurer, then--"

"What reasons did they give you to believe this?"

The boy cut his sentence short. He and the beast stared at each other in silence. He waited for the beast to elaborate, but nothing came. A crease appeared on the boy's brow and he looked away. "Anyway, if that's all it takes, then I can be one easily. I've already been working on my first quest. The rest should be easy."

"And what of the advice they gave you, hmm? That you must set rules for yourself to follow as an adventurer?"

The boy leaned back in his bed, digging strands of hair in the textured wall of his bedroom. He propped up his book with his knees. "I'm still working on that."

"Then are you an adventurer, yet?"

"Do you only ask stupid questions?"

The beast sighed at the response and rolled.

"Hey, don't ruin the furs!"

The beast laughed, and the boy who conjured him did, too.

---

[Author's note: Adding missing text here shortly. Apologies for any inconsistencies you encounter as you continue. The main character starts his next day. He and his mom are in the main room together, sitting in awkward silence. It's been roughly two full days since they've last seen or spoken to each other. The boy wants to avoid the topic of their last argument, though, so he starts an off-topic conversation in an attempt to draw attention away from it. Hopefully this will help you better understand the story from here on out. Thank you for your understanding, and please enjoy!]

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"Anything cool happen at the greenhouse, yesterday?"

Jill lowered herself onto the floor with a deep sigh and stuck her feet close to the oven. "No, not really." When silence reigned, however, she grew restless. It was an odd thing, really, since she was always perfectly fine with saying nothing. "Well, now that you mention it, Mr. Rotter stopped by to help us patch up that hole in the chive greenhouse. He closed his shop for it. I know you aren't fond of him, yet, but I think you'd really like him if you stayed around a little while and talked."

Her son shrugged. "I did talk to him. I guess he kind of said he was sorry, or whatever, but he's still crazy. I've seen him cut off chicken heads, Ma, who knows what weird hobbies he has."

For once, Jill chuckled. "You're funny, Thistle." Her smile vanished and she fidgeted again. Her son grew obviously irritated. "I hear you were well-behaved, today," Jill muttered. "Yesterday, too."

"I went on a quest."

"Oh, did you? What quest was it, this time?"

The boy slipped a hand in his pocket and sheepishly tugged out the page he'd gotten. He handed it to her, not looking in her direction. Jill took it and examined the contents. She went silent for a little longer than the boy had hoped. When he glanced at her reaction, her face was a bit flushed.

"What?"

"Did, um, Mr. Rotter give you this?"

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason. So, tell me about it."

The boy stared at his mother, estranged from the energy she had this late in the night. But she was curious about his day, for once, and he didn't want to waste it. He told her well of his work at the ranch and she looked a little happier for the first time in several years.

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[Author's note: Adding missing text here shortly. Apologies for any inconsistencies you encounter as you continue. The main character is starting the third day of his "quest." There is a deleted portion of how he gets there that I need to re-work. The next few paragraphs below involve split periods of time, with portions indicated by "-" being topics he'd gone over with the beast in his room the previous night and the others being the present day. This site does not include italics, so I improvised to get the effect I want across. Hopefully this will help you better understand the story from here on out. Thank you for your understanding, and please enjoy!]

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"Where are you going?"

The boy flipped the flap back into place and buttoned it shut, then slung it over his head. "To Old Harbur's."

The beast groaned and dug his chin into the fur rug. "Don't you miss chasing beasts in the barley?"

"Sure. But I get in trouble for that. At least the old man likes me. And I'm one step closer to proving Ma wrong."

"Heh. There is that."

.

.

.

"Good morning, Mr. Harbur."

"Good mornin'." Old Harbur lifted a hand in greeting. I've already let the girls out. Forgot to feed 'em, though. If you can, stuff that there wheelbarrow with barley and wheel it out to the basin. They must be hungry. They should scamper over when they see ye."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"I'll need help muckin' out their stalls, eventually. But take yer time. I hate to make ye work so hard."

The boy rubbed the strap of his bag with a thumb and smiled. "I don't mind, sir."

[[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Adding missing text here shortly. Apologies for any inconsistencies you encounter as you read. To start, this site doesn't have italics, so the portions that start and end with "-" are in the past, where he was speaking with the goat beast in his bedroom. The boy is getting more comfortable with the idea of himself as an adventurer, even if it's essentially him just working an average job as a ranch hand in his own village. Now, instead of Old Harbur asking for help, the boy just arrives with the expectation that he is needed, and is rewarded by his answer being "yes." Now, he is comfortable around the feemock herd, comfortable with being himself in the field, and is trying to ignore the failed attempt to join forces with his supposed idols. He carries on through this morning heading toward the herd, and since he has a significant lack of duties from Harbur, decides to enjoy the time even more by pondering what it means to truly be what he wants to be most: an adventurer.]]

- "Number one. Adventurers are brave and strong at all times," he nodded, reciting his personal 'adventurer's code.' "That sounds pretty good, doesn't it?" He tapped the pages of his book with his fingers, not bothering to make his typical attempt at reading them. After a moment of contemplation, however, he dipped his head down and flipped through each, examining the pictures thoroughly as if he hadn't seen them each hundreds of times. Once again, the volvemo adventurer, proudly poised in victory above the scribbles of various characters below, appeared under his fingers. The signature detail, of course, was the adventurer's clawed feet atop beheaded beasts. -

He slashed at the scrawny patches of grass. Once. Twice. Stabbed at the ground as if it were a foul, long-fanged beast, delivering but a single deadly blow. Be it predators or beasts of the most exotic kind, he'd face them all no matter what. If it meant doing good for the people of Carovine, he'd surely go forth into battle. Yes! He lifted the sword high and took a step forward, his own 'claws' stamped triumphantly over the kill beneath his feet.

"Fear not, frail feemocks!" He received a few belly noises from the herd. "I'm your mighty adventurer, here to protect you from... grass!" He twirled a few times, imagining a hoard of fuzzy blurs cut down in his wake. They plopped down one by one as fantastical blood-sucking vermin. The feemocks moved forward a few steps, as did the boy who hopped and let out a fearsome yell. His sword ripped through the air and spat a harsh whine.

- He turned the page. "Number two. They definitely help the good and conquer the bad, no matter what. That's kind of a given." He continued flipping. Of what years he'd owned the book and filed through what contents he could comprehend, he'd come up with the same realization of dozens. No matter the story, no matter the revision in his head, the adventurer was always adored. It didn't matter who it was - if they smiled, they smiled at the adventurer. If they didn't smile, they were foes. -

"I have saved you, Ma'am, what say you?" He leaned against the stick and held his cocked face near one of the feemocks. She nonchalantly lifted her head and sniffed at the boy's face. He drew back in mild disgust when his hair became her surprise treat.

"Oh, thank you, brave adventurer!" The boy improvised on her behalf, heightening the pitch in his voice to mock that of a woman's. The feemock stepped away to join the rest of the herd and the boy followed. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Oh, there's no need, Ma'am."

"Oh, thank you, Mister..."

"Mister..."

The boy hesitated. Everything shifted back to reality, again. The monsters behind him that lay dead and dismembered disappeared. He was no longer an adventurer, but a simple boy forgotten and left to his own devices. He didn't think he was even a gardener, anymore, with how little he'd been to the greenhouses.

'Who am I?' For a moment his gaze fell to the ground, distraught by the reality of his troubles interrupting him again. He hated the idea of being known as Thistle, the adventurer. Even if he were a beloved idol, he could never forget the sting that came with such a name. A reminder of what people truly, deep down, thought about him. Just a no-good, pointless weed; sprouting everywhere, pointless to try getting rid of, a bloody pain to everyone and getting under their feet. Was that any way he wanted to be?

"I can be anything," he reasoned, "anyone. Not Thistle, not Weed, not a stupid, good-for-nothing burden." He pushed himself upright and thrust his stick forward, with its worn end licking up a small stream of mud. He tested a few stances and concentrated, while still following the ever-so-slow herd ahead of him. He'd already made headway into something better. There was no need to feel stuck, anymore. Reality suddenly became less heavy.

"I still like who I am. I just don't like my name. It stinks more than this stupid field."

The winds moved.

"If nobody gets me, then fine, I won't even let them try. But I will be the single most greatest, strongest, bravest, smartest adventurer to ever roam this land. I am... I am... Riddle?" His lips curled into a wide grin and his feet pounded at the ground. With little effort, he launched himself onward through the field, startling the herd. He gave the air one last, vicious slash with his stick and skidded to a halt, peering up at the open world with fire in his eyes. "I am Riddle!"

The feemocks erupted in various noises of disease at the sudden uproar, finally fed up with the noise and starting back toward the barn. The boy didn't care. He felt the rush through his heart, feeling that yes, that was his calling. That was his name. It felt so wonderful that he couldn't help but inhale and scream it again into the distance. To let it disappear into the woods beyond. Let the perilous wilds know who he was. Let it know he was coming for it.

"I am Riddle!" he shouted, listening to it travel across the field. "I am Riddle, the Adventurer!" Black birds uplifted from their spots in the grass, then more in the trees a mile away. "I! Am! Riddle!"

He dragged the last words until his lungs had no air left to scream them. After that, he bent over, entirely out of breath. The silence stretched long enough for him to hear something from the woods. His echo? No, not possible. It sounded different. Then he straightened, puzzled at the sudden faint distress among the trees. Black birds deeper in the forest appeared suddenly over the green blanket. Despite the hazy distance, he could have sworn he caught sight of a few pines moving in no wind.

He took another deep breath and called. "Hello?" The voice traveled.

Terrified screams faintly answered back.