The hunter's camp was not where I expected it.
I'd pictured a cabin — somethin' solid, permanent, with a fence and a proper roof. Instead, I found a clearin' in the thick of the jungle, a single tent, and more animal tracks than I could name crossin' every inch of open ground.
The dwarf himself was sittin' on a stump, cleanin' a blade, when I walked into his camp.
He looked up. Looked at me. Looked at Loaf.
Then he grinned.
"That's a fine pig ye've got there."
"Boar," I said. "His name's Loaf."
"Loaf." He tested the name. "Suits him."
He stood up, wiped his blade on his trouser leg, and walked over to Loaf without hesitation. Loaf eyed him warily but held his ground. The dwarf ran his hands along Loaf's flank, down his leg, over the joint where the wound had been.
Loaf flinched.
"There," the dwarf said. "Deep tissue. Looked healed on the surface, but somethin's pinched in there. I've seen it before."
"Can ye fix it?"
He looked at me. "Aye. But it'll take time. Weeks, maybe. He needs rest, good food, and a routine of exercises I'll show ye. Ye stayin'?"
I hadna planned to. I'd planned to drop Loaf off and keep movin' — find the next road, the next horizon.
But I looked at Loaf. At the trust in his eyes. At the way he stood close to me even now, even in this strange place.
"I'm stayin'."
The dwarf nodded, satisfied.
"Good. There's space by the fire. Ye'll learn the routine. And while ye're here, ye might hear some interestin' things about what's happenin' deeper in the jungle."
He glanced south, toward the dense canopy.
"There's a temple. Old troll ruins. Adventurers cleared it not long ago. Place is still hummin' with somethin'."
I felt the familiar pull of curiosity.
But first: Loaf.
I set down me pack and made camp.