Chapter 8: Digging In Part 1

  The first chest the party had found on the edge of the woods had been oddly shaped and roughly finished. Cato hadn’t cared much about that and, after checking the surrounding area for obvious traps, flipped the lid open just as Nixen was nagging him about being more cautious.

  Cato had looked over his shoulder at Nixen to reply as the lid opened, so the skunk waiting inside only sprayed the left side of his head and his upper torso.

  This might have saved his eyesight since he wasn’t sprayed directly in the eyes, but the stink was almost impossible to deal with. The rotten bastard that had inflicted this indignity on him had even escaped retaliation as the others were more concerned at Cato’s indignant cries and flailing. After the air assaulted them with the tiny pitchforks of hatred inside their nostrils, they were more interested in backing away with hands over their noses.

  Trying to wipe the excess of the spray off of himself with leaves and grass had only smeared it around and made him dirty and stinky. Bathing in the nearby stream had helped partially, but the stink was soaked into his clothing and armor. So it was futile to try and get that out when they had a job to finish.

  Now cleaner but still reeking, he was also unhappily damp from his futile gator-rolling cleaning efforts in the stream. The others gave his stink a wide berth as he trudged ahead of the party.

  He was looking for more disturbed earth for hidden wasp nests and stinking chests, as the party was now calling them. Only a few of each had been found thus far, which slowed their progress.

  The chests Omara had knocked onto their side and opened the lids with her burning hand, releasing the skunks who had looked at the party with blinking eyes and trundled off into the underbrush. Winnie had forbade Cato from seeking vengeance against them. Despite his ire not fading due to delayed havoc against those who had wronged him, he had been more inclined toward tolerating Winnie’s existence as the morning progressed

  Winnie had dealt with the few nests he had spotted lightly buried along their path with a demonstrated flexing of her minor summoning. A brightly colored, noisy, primarily insubstantial burrowing insect.

  She used it to lead the angry swarm away into the woods around them with a few murmured commands after it appeared. Once the swarm had vacated, she walked over and gently uncovered the nest, moving it out of their path of travel. It slowed them down but less than the party scattering to avoid the welts given out by the angry insects.

  When Cato reasonably asked Omara,

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  “Why don’t you just burn them?”

  She had replied in a scathing tone,

  “You want me to use enough fire magic to burn something underground in a forest that hasn’t seen rain in who knows how long? How do you see that ‘stinky’ idea working out when the underbrush catches and the forest fire kills us all?”

  Cato scowled at her. The floating hand of fire over her shoulder had closed into a fist with one finger extended to echo the contempt in her voice. Cato supposed she had a point. However, he didn’t see the need to be rude over it.

  Winnie spoke up as well,

  “This only takes a few minutes, and though wasps are assholes, exterminating something just because it is, makes you the asshole. They aren’t a threat. No need for eradication.”

  Nixen spoke up as well,

  “We keep you around too, Cato. Let Winnie do her thing.”

  Cato had grumbled a bit more but ceased talking and focused back on the task at hand. Not stepping on earth-based flying hatred bugs. He focused on the scattered game trail they were following.

  Spotting a familiar shape ahead of them, he called reluctantly to Omara,

  “Stinky chest.”

  He had attempted to not use that moniker for such a source of embarrassment but she ignored him completely unless he capitulated to her reminder of his foul-up.

  She smirked as she waved her hand, and the floating torch of dexterous might over her shoulder floated forward to tip the chest on its side. When the lid opened, no skunk fell out of the container, but a mixture of corn, potatoes, and other vegetables came tumbling out.

  The party blinked collectively, and Nixen spoke,

  “Huh. Orange you all glad it wasn’t bananas?”

  Omara replied,

  “Two out of ten bananas are a fruit.”

  Winnie chimed in,

  “At least we know what this one had in store for us?”

  Cato waggled his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture while Nixen seemed to approve with a grin. Omara cautiously stirred the pile of vegetables with her burning hand and said,

  “Seems safe enough.”

  Cato approached the tipped-over chest and nudged the pile with one foot. As he stepped to the side of the pile of deceitful vegetables his feet sank a few inches into the soft dirt, and he heard an ominously familiar crunch.

  As the wasps boiled out of the ground around his ankle and the unfairly warranted laughter of his party echoed in his ears, he started to cry as he screamed,

  “Damn it!”

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