Cloud ran to me. I led him to the barn and groomed him while he fed. His coat was like silk beneath my hand. As he drank, I fed the bull and checked my gear. My pack was well-stocked. I had a length of rope, three traps, a hammer, and wooden stakes. My guns were loaded, and I had the pen and wand in my left armband.

Traveling north was still up in the air. The problems of such a landscape troubled my thoughts. Progress would be slow. Inclines would challenge Cloud. There would be no clear trail, but many obstacles.

Cloud came to me, nuzzling my back. He was just that way; he knew what to expect. I tossed the blanket and saddle on his back and said, “Let's get you dressed.”

I called out, “Log entry.”

The GM responded, “Shoot.”

“This is my third embarkation. I've decided to forego killing the bear and instead focus on trapping. For now, I think I'll go north. I've set the GM to speak like my father, and it's amazing.”

I finished and left the barn to find Cloud by the fence, nose-to-nose with the other horses. As I went to check on the cows, I called, “GM.”

“Still here,” answered the GM.

“You have three-dimensional imaging. Right?” I asked to be sure.

The GM replied, “Of course.”

The feed and water were still good. They had come close in hopes of something new. I leaned against the fence and said to the GM, “I want you to appear as my father when you speak.”

When the image of my father appeared next to me, the cows bolted away. I turned to survey my father's image, a smile on my face. The image assessed itself, tugging at the King's robe and belt.

The GM asked, “Does this belt make me look fat?”

I laughed. My father was complete, only, it was not my father. Still. I calmed enough to say, “You look fine.”

As I walked around the image, checking from all sides, the image cleared its imaginary throat. The GM said, “Alright. Alright. Daylight's burning.”

“Daylight?” I asked.

“That's what we called a rotation on Elysia. The sunny part anyway,” said the GM. “Now, go. If you go north, be careful.”

The image followed me to the barn, as did Cloud, unruffled by the image beside me. I tied on the gear and put my two guns under my broad leather belt. Mounting Cloud outside the barn, I turned to the image and said flippantly, “I may be late. Don't wait up.”

The broad savanna ended in grassy hillocks that ascended in a twisted manner. I stopped at a small pool where water trickled between gray rocks. I let Cloud drink and rest. I stood back and looked up at the craggy incline as I shaded my eyes. I looked right along the face of the hills and saw that they rose steeply. To my left, the hills were gentle, and I could see an animal trail leading into the trees.

Reins in hand, I led Cloud into the trail. At first going left, it switched back and led us to the right, and to a bald crest by a stream. Seeing prints by the stream, I set a trap. That might have been a good place to set all the traps and head back, but I did not feel so moved. I could see a valley through the trees and decided to press on.

It was cool in the shade, my gate was casual. I stopped here and there to gather samples of the flora. The trail seemed wider, easier to navigate. I was encouraged by Cloud's calm acceptance of the new terrain. We arrived in a broad and grassy valley a turn past the sun's peak. I saw deer in the distance. They also spotted me, bolting into the trees beyond a shallow river.

At the rive, we drank water. I ate meat and bread, then, I fed oats to Cloud. The air was fresh and pleasant, bird song came soothing to the ear. After a rest, we crossed the river and approached the tree line on the far hills. Those hills were not so high, and just beyond was another valley. I stood on the rocky crest to survey it, a valley troubled by boulders and scraggy trees.

Cloud's nostrils tested the wind, he became wide-eyed and skittish. As we entered the second valley, we were immediately faced with a large rocky outcrop. Cloud pulled against the reins, and I heard a growl from the far side. I also heard a voice, a scared voice. The fear was all but screamed. I gave a calming pat to Cloud's neck and walked to a spot where I saw a young primitive pinned on a rock by a black bear. The young man waved a broken spear to no avail.

Spotting me, he called out. I had no idea what he said except that it was a plea for help. The bear also spotted me and turned to investigate. It could have been my hairy nemesis, or it could have been another bear altogether. I did not care, I was sweaty and in no mood for bears. I pulled my pen and shifted as it ran at me on all fours. I was briefly on a limb above it. Then, I fell pen first.

I rolled from the bear and stood aside. The dirty little man jumped from the rock and ran over. In a flurry I did not expect, the primitive stabbed the bear several times, the sharp end of his broken spear as effective as any spear point. I noted the venting of fear and frustration. I saw the laughing pride of survival as the primitive at last made eye contact.

Chattering, he kept his distance. My, how he went on! In my rotations on the new world, I had seen no other sentient life. I listened and nodded with neither interest nor understanding. Yet, his body language seemed to ask for assistance. He pointed to the bear and made pulling motions.

I whistled for Cloud, he came to me with a reserved nuzzle, and the primitive backed away gaping. As I removed my rope, I asked myself, where was his village? Why was he alone? Noting the lethal wound in the bear's neck, I tied one end of the rope around its head and the other end to Cloud's saddle.

I mounted Cloud and gave the little man a nod. He laughed, then pointed vaguely beyond the trees before he made a beckoning gesture. Maybe, it wasn't the smartest move, but I was armed. The little man ran ahead, happy to lead the way.

He was short and dirty, and his long hair was tangled. He wore a simple hide on his loins. His skin was dark. His bare feet were calloused. I wondered how big his village was. I wondered how I might communicate. I was just a little nervous to meet strange people.

The village came into view as we entered a small clearing. Ringed in by trees, the village was well-hidden. It was small, with less than a hundred souls. The dwellings were simple lean-tos, thatched roofs on slender poles, with the backs facing the trees. The small community straddled a creek. As my guide ran forward, calling out, I took note of three campfires, men making spears with stone tips, five drying racks, and a thatched shack beyond the stream.

I dismounted to reclaim my rope, still at a comfortable distance from the village. I was wondering what I'd gotten myself into. They came to touch Cloud, but he was having none of that. I gestured that we should go to the village.

When my guide stepped forward, it dawned on me that all the curious villagers were men. My guide smiled, elevated among his own for bringing home a stranger. When the villagers saw the bear, they ran to it. Meanwhile, I faced my guide, curious about what he was trying to say. He slapped his bony brown chest and said a word. He gestured to the village, saying another word. I could see that communication would be frustrating.

The little man slapped his chest again, repeating his first word. “Agga.”

I was not sure, but I decided he was telling me his name. I touched my chest and said, “Jeez.”

He paused, then nodded. Before he could respond, I touched my horse and said, “Cloud.”

I could sense the gears spinning in his head. He slowly repeated my words. “Jeez. Clowed.” I had to smile at the latter. Then Agga motioned to the village, repeating his second word. “Ouawei.”

The men dragged the bear into the village and began to skin it. I followed Agga, peeking into the simple dwellings. Women sat inside chewing leather, children looked up from the labor of twining rope with wide curious eyes. Agga led me to the shack. Cloud calmed under my hand.

As Agga chattered at the shack, he placed mats of small leafy branches near a dying campfire and motioned for me to sit. The dried fronds that covered the door moved aside, and two poorly dressed young women led out a blind elder. White scales covered his eyes. While Agga and the women settled the old man on his mat, I studied his strange features.

He was dressed in heavy furs. His brow was larger than those of the other men. His nose was big and blunt, his skin was pocked, and teeth were missing from his smile. He gripped in his right hand a worn stick with attached feathers and rodent skulls. Agga fanned up a flame and the two women returned to the shack. Ouawei spoke a short slurred sentence.

Agga responded in an animated manner. He gestured as he spoke, clawing actions for the bear, and pointing gestures for his spear. I sat patiently watching Agga. His arms and hands shot toward the sky just as clouds obscured the fierce afternoon sun. I heard Agga mention my name. I heard him struggle with Cloud's name. His tale of being saved by a stranger was made plain by his expressive gestures.

I glanced behind myself and saw that the bear was a skeleton, its meat heavy on burdened racks. Ouawei and Agga conversed, and I understood not a word. I stared at the scales in the old man's eyes. I knew there was a remedy for his blindness, but I would have to consult the GM.

I was surprised to be engaged in direct communication. The old man's speech was slow and heavy. He stopped often and motioned to Agga, who immediately began to sign with exaggerated gestures, many of which went over my head. Still, I realized that I sat in communication with the natives of a new world.

Ouawei reached for Agga's arm, and Agga placed his arm beneath the old man's hand. Ouawei pulled a crude wooden figure from his clothing and placed it in Agga's hand. It was as if the mood of the village brightened.

Agga stood, lifting the figure, and raised his voice in exultation. The village responded in kind. Agga ran into the embrace of an older man I took to be his father. Younger men walked past him, laying their hands on his neck. I was left wondering just who it was I had saved.

The two women came from the shack and placed a broad leaf in his hands. They poured water from a clay pot, and the old man drank. The leaf was passed to me, and water was poured. Cloud put his nose to the leaf as I drank.

Agga knelt to my left. He held the wooden figure between us as he chattered, his lips pulling back from yellow teeth in a crooked youthful smile. He placed a fist against his chest, then he placed the same fist against my chest. His nod was tentative, and while not knowing what transpired, I returned the nod to his satisfaction.

I was in the middle of a primitive moment. A throaty hooting swelled from the village people. It might have been a song. They celebrated what I knew not. Were they simply glad that Agga had made it back alive? Had Agga passed a ritual coming-of-age trial? Was he the chief of the village?

Women came to us bearing raw bear meat on leaves. The elder lifted meat to the sky with a slurred prayer. His words were wasted on me, but the village was impressed. The old man put the meat in his mouth and closed his eyes in appreciation. Agga motioned to me to do the same, as he all but swallowed his bear meat whole. I was not averse to bear steak, but only if cooked well. I placed the meat on the fire to his dismay. They brought more meat. The elder and Agga placed meat in the flames. A savory smoke arose, meriting a sage nod from Ouawei. 

I turned the meat in the fire. Agga fanned the flames.  Village noises were happy. They took time from chewing leather and twining rope to acknowledge a stranger. I heard children laughing behind me.

While the meat sizzled, I signed to Agga, hoping my broad gestures would be understood. It was guesswork on my part, but first, I pointed to the sky, making an arc from east to west. Then, I pointed to myself and followed with a pat to the ground. Agga chattered and Ouawei nodded. I pointed between my eyes and the eyes of the elder. My sign for healing was a scrubbing motion, one hand over the other.

Agga seemed perplexed as he tried to interpret my gestures. I pointed to the old man, closed and opened my eyes, then indicated all around me with wide eyes and nodding. At first confused, Ouawei spoke slowly to Agga, and I could feel the village listening, hanging on his words. Agga turned to me and bowed his head. He clasped his hands and held them between us in what I took to be a gesture of thanks. I took a deep breath and sighed, feeling successful.

I took my steak from the fire, switching it quickly between my hands. Agga laughed and said something to Ouawei, who also laughed. The two women from Ouawei's shack cracked yellow smiles while Agga cooled the elder's cooked bear and passed it to him. I found bear meat to my taste. When I vocalized my pleasure with a hum, Agga, and the elder did likewise.

I got home late and put Cloud in a stall. I remembered the gift a village woman had offered in parting. I held three of them in my hands, yellow with a blush. I called the Great Mind.

The image of my father appeared in the barn. “Welcome home, son,” said the GM.

I asked, “What can you tell me about this fruit?”

The fruit lit up in my hands as the GM scanned them. Looking into my eyes the way my father used to, The GM answered, “They are a match for the apricot of Elysia.”

“Do we grow them?” I asked.

The GM responded, “Sadly, no, we don't grow them. Save the seeds.”

I was wound tight. I didn't want to simply shift to my apartment. “Walk with me,” I said.

I had gone out to set traps. Along the way, I met a small community of indigenous people. I had saved one of them and was rewarded with a hospitality I would not have expected.

“I went north,” I said. “I met people. I saved one of them from a bear.”

“Did you kill the bear?” asked the GM.

I answered. “I used the stasis pen. The young man killed it.”

“You did well,” said the GM. We were coming to the peach trees.

I said, “We took the bear to his village. The man's name is Agga. I think Agga's the chief.”

The GM said, “You should establish trade.”

I replied, “I met a blind elder. Ouawei. The eyes have white scales. Prepare a medicine.” It felt good to address the GM with such familiarity. I continued. “It was hard to communicate. We were waving our hands around like children in a game.”

“Would've liked to see that,” said the GM.

I asked, as we walked into the fields, “Do we have a translation device?”

Dark mode began. The image of my father turned to me, smiling the way my father would have, with a challenge in his eyes. “Check the dump,” said the GM.

The dump was a place you threw stuff to forget about it. I had been there once or twice but did not relish the thought of going back. I could spend turns in the room without finding the thing I sought. Looking for a translator in the dump was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I groaned and the GM grinned mischief.