Primal Imperative: Provide, Defend, Breed: A Monster Girl Men's Fantasy by Quentin Kilgore

Author:Quentin Kilgore [Kilgore, Quentin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Quentin Kilgore
Published: 2022-04-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

YARGIMALD LIVED IN an empty corner of the village, among a cluster of ruined and rotting huts.

It looked like a scrapyard. Metal parts of primitive farm equipment, presumably, rusted in the long grass. I stepped around old wagon wheels, heavy hooks, and what looked like a yoke for oxen.

“There’s old Yargimald,” Cedri said, gesturing with his hook. “You’ll always find him sitting there in front of his hut, whittling or tinkering with something.”

An old bald man with a very long beard sat on a wooden stool, working on something in his hands. Bird feeders, sundials, and other bric-à-brac sat on a large worktable.

“Morning, Yargimald!” Snori said. “How do you fare?”

The old man muttered something and continued his task. In a cloth, he held a piece of black, glass-like stone—obsidian, I guessed—and used a piece of an antler to chip away at it, creating an extremely sharp edge.

He pointed his antler at the worktable. “Got 25 so far.”

The arrows looked amazingly well-crafted to me, not like I knew anything about making primitive weapons. The arrowheads were wedged into a groove in the arrow's tip and secured with some kind of string.

They even had feathers on the ends—what I would later find out were from chickens.

“Yargimald, this is David Ashwood,” Cedri said.

The old man glanced at me, made a slight nod, and continued about his work as if he didn’t have the slightest interest in me. I shrugged; I was getting used to the surliness of the locals.

“I have enough stone for five more arrowheads,” Yargimald said. “So you’ll have 30 sharp arrows, plus about 15 blunt ones. Be finished by this evening.”

“That’ll do fine,” Snori said.

We decided we’d leave the following morning, barring heavy rain or snow.

Hoping to spend the afternoon with Belina and Milana, I headed for their hut. As I was on the way, I passed several women standing outside a hut, speaking in scandalized voices.

They stopped talking as I walked by.

“Mr. David Ashwood! Please take care,” one said.

“Keep your wits about you,” said another.

Apparently, word was spreading about the attempted assassination. Gertrice probably came by and questioned them, and now they were spooked. It was just as well. They deserved to know that someone among them was a would-be murderer.

Later on, when I was having tea at Belina’s, a knock came at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Milana announced, jumping to her feet.

I heard Gertrice’s priggish voice: “Hello, Milana, is your mother home?”

“What do you want, Gertrice?” Belina said without stirring.

“Oh. Um, there was an incident last night at David Ashwood’s, and we’re asking everyone if they’ve noticed anything peculiar lately. May I come in?”

“Alright, but David’s already told me about it.”

The cat girl stuck her head in, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “Oh, hello, Mr. David.”

“As you can see, I already know about the incident,” Belina said.

“How’s it going, Gertrice?” I said. “Have you found any clues?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You already checked the perimeter?”

“Yes. The wards haven’t been breached, and we found no more goblin magic.

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