The morning mist clung to the forest floor like a damp shroud, swallowing the last traces of June's departure. Blop stood motionless at the edge of the clearing, his large, pupil-less eyes staring into the grey void where his only tether to humanity had vanished. A chilling wind swept through the pines, rattling the branches, and for the first time since leaving the lab, the silence felt heavy. He was alone. Truly, completely alone.
He looked down at the parchment in his hand. June had told him to go to the Robelt Kingdom, but as he turned the map over and over, a realization hit him—he didn't know what a map was. To a creature born of glass tubes and indigo shadows, the concept of a compass or a bird's-eye view of the world was as foreign as the stars above.
("She gave me this skin of a dead tree,") Blop thought, his mind struggling to form the concepts. ("It has lines like the veins in my arm, but they do not pulse. How am I to follow a thing that does not breathe?")
He sat beneath an ancient oak, watching the sun crest the horizon. The light was beautiful but stinging, casting long, orange shadows that looked like grasping fingers. He studied the routes ahead. There were several paths—narrow deer trails, wide merchant roads, and overgrown thickets.
("Right is always right,") he decided with a simple logic. ("The humans say it when they agree. Therefore, the path on the right must be the one of truth.")
He marched forward. The road was well-traveled, packed hard by years of wagons and boots. As he walked, his eyes kept drifting back to the numbers on the map: 1129 km.
"1129 km…" he whispered, his voice sounding like dry leaves grinding together.( "Is that the name of a person? Or perhaps the name of the king? I will find this 1129 km and ask him for directions.")
Hours passed. By the time the sun reached its zenith, the heat began to irritate Blop's sensitive skin. He stumbled upon a rushing river, the water crystal clear and singing over smooth stones. He stopped, staring at his reflection. He looked weary. His body felt heavy, and the urge to cool his internal temperature became overwhelming.
("I must enter the water," )he thought.( "But if I walk, I am slow. I will jump.")
He coiled the powerful muscles in his legs, ignoring the limits of a human frame. With a sudden, violent burst of speed, he launched himself. But he had forgotten to calculate the distance. Instead of landing in the center of the river, he sailed across it entirely, his body a blur of motion.
THUD!!
He slammed head-first into a thick pine tree on the opposite bank. The wood cracked under the impact. Blop slid down to the grass, rubbing his throbbing skull.
("The water is further than it looks," )he grumbled internally.( "Next time, I will not jump. I will simply be the water.")
He waded into the shallows. The cold hit him like an electric current, sending a shiver through his core that made his blue blood hum. As he soaked, a sharp pain flared in his calf. He looked down to see a jagged-toothed carnivorous fish clamped onto his leg. It thrashed wildly, but Blop's flesh, reinforced by indigo fibers, was harder than iron. The fish's teeth were hopelessly stuck.
Blop reached down, his fingers closing around the fish's throat like a vice.
"Ye... fr.free... foo...food," he croaked. The words were broken, his vocal cords still adapting to speech, but the joy in his tone was unmistakable.
He climbed onto the shore, clutching his prize. He realized he had no way to make fire—no "hot sticks" as he called them. With a sigh of disappointment, he bit into the raw fish. The taste was metallic and slimy; the bones crunched unpleasantly against his teeth, sticking in his throat. It was a miserable meal, but it was fuel.
As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold, Blop realized he couldn't stay in his human form if he wanted to hunt properly. He needed to be faster. He needed to be the wolf.
("I will transform. I will find the sweet honey and the soft meat," )he planned.
He began the process. It was never a gentle thing. His bones shattered and re-fused in seconds, the sound like a bag of dry walnuts being crushed. His jaw unhinged, stretching into a long, lupine snout. Fur erupted from his pores in dark, matted clumps. He grew larger, his posture shifting to all fours, his senses sharpening until he could hear the heartbeat of a rabbit a mile away.
Then, he looked down. His human clothes—the simple garments June had given him—were shredded. The fabric hung in useless rags around his powerful wolf neck.
("Wait… I forgot to take them off,") Blop's wolf-mind howled in frustration. ("Why does this keep happening? Now I am a naked human when I turn back. This is… inconvenient.")
He spent the night as a Dire Wolf. He caught rabbits with effortless lethality and even braved a beehive. The bees swarmed him, their stings bouncing off his thick hide like pebbles, though one managed to get him on the nose, making him sneeze a glob of indigo mucus. The honeycomb was delicious—a golden reward for his ruined clothes.
The next morning, Blop faced a logistical crisis. "I have no pockets in this skin," he realized, looking at his 11 gold coins and his map.( "But I am the container.")
He focused his will. His upper chest fur receded, and the muscle beneath parted, creating a hollow, biological pocket within his own torso. He gently placed the map and the coins inside the "hole" and allowed the flesh to knit back over them. Safe.
He began to sprint. In his wolf form, the kilometers blurred. He crossed mountain passes and skirted riverbanks until the sound of rhythmic thumping caught his ears. Hooves. Wheels.
He dove behind a massive oak. A carriage was approaching, guarded by four men on horseback. They wore gleaming armor and carried lances that caught the sun.
("Clothes,") Blop thought, his predatory eyes locking onto the riders.( "I will give them my yellow coins in exchange for their skins.")
But he didn't know how to ask. To the guards, he wasn't a traveler—he was a nightmare. Blop lunged from the shadows with a thunderous roar that shook the leaves from the trees.
"D-Rank Dire Wolf! Kill it!" the lead guard screamed, drawing a silver-edged sword.
Three guards charged. Their blades struck Blop's flank, but instead of blood, they hit something that felt like stone. Blop didn't even flinch; his wounds closed before the swords could even be retracted. He ignored the men and crashed directly into the side of the carriage.
The wooden frame splintered. From within, a young woman in silk robes—a princess, though Blop had no word for it—was tossed out, tumbling into the soft grass. Blop ignored her terror. He dove into the wreckage of the trunk, his teeth grabbing a bundle of fine, royal silks.
He jumped into the high branches of a tree, looking down at the stunned soldiers. He remembered his plan. He reached into his chest, his muscle parting in a way that made the guards gag in horror, and tossed five gold coins onto the road.
The guards watched, frozen, as the monster gave them money and vanished into the canopy.
Miles away, Blop shifted back to his human form. He stood naked in a sun-drenched glade, holding the royal clothes. They were beautiful—gold-trimmed and soft—but when he put them on, he frowned. They were too long at the legs and too tight at the chest.
("Why is this skin so difficult?" )he mused. Then, he remembered June. She was smaller. Graceful.
("I will adjust. I will be like the one who helped me.")
Blop closed his eyes. He willed his skeleton to shrink, his shoulders to narrow, and his height to drop. He mimicked June's silhouette perfectly. He even forced his scalp to produce long, flowing hair that shimmered in the light.
When he finally pulled the royal robes on, they fit perfectly. He looked like a noble scholar—or a princess of the forest.
("Now," Blop whispered, his voice slightly higher, more melodic. "Now I am ready for the 1129 km.")
With his coins tucked inside his new body and his map held tight, the "Monster in Silk" stepped back onto the road to Robelt.