2
The Art of Packing
Guruk
I watched Sammy pack as if she were going off to battle...or preparing for a dungeon raid. I still wasn’t sure what the latter entailed, but she had explained it as “going on a mission, seeking treasures, and facing a ‘big boss’.” The whole thing sounded fantastical to me. Yet, she claimed Havenlore was an actual fantasy realm, and that her world—Earth—was plain in comparison. I wasn’t certain I believed that. Her world sounded anything but simple.
“I don’t believe you’ll need a pickax, my little human.” I attempted to hide my grin at her antics, but she was just so cute when she fretted.
She pointed the aforementioned tool in my direction. “Guruk, you never know what you’ll need on a quest. Better to have it and not need it, then need it and not have it.”
I hummed, pondering her words. A wise sentiment for certain, but considering Havenlore had no battlefields or dungeons, Icould not foresee the need for such extensive preparation. Now, a picnic basket, cozy blankets, and plenty of snacks for my tiny human with the voracious appetite was a far more reasonable packing strategy.
“Sage words.” I smiled as she rummaged through our bedroom trunk. “Yet, the eastern trails are scenic with some of our world’s greatest natural beauties.” Wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, I pulled her back against my chest. “I’d prefer showing them to you and enjoying our time together as we search for your friends.”
Her chin lifted as she bared her neck to me. I nuzzled against it, humming against her skin. She let out a breathy sigh, set the pickax back in the trunk, and spun to face me. Her brow shot up. “So, this is what you've been plotting, huh?”
I swallowed, caught red-handed in my planning. “I have been considering our options.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s the same thing.”
“It is a related but distinct thing.” I pressed my lips to the top of her head. She smelled of jasmine and the faint sweetness of a single rose. “You’ve adjusted well here, Sammy. I know how important your friends are to you, and we will find them.”
A quick quirk of her lips hinted at her amusement. “But…” she prompted.
“But,” I scratched at my chest, a nervous tic, “I don’t like you upset and worried. I want to help you relax too.”
She hummed, then eyed the bag I’d set near the door. “What did you put in the other bag?”
“Provisions.” The answer came out a little too quickly.
“Which provisions?”
I shrugged. “The important kind.”
She stepped out of my arms and marched directly to the canvas bag. I watched her rifle through it and catalogued each reaction. Confusion at the folded blanket. A small, helpless softening of her expression at the wheel of cheese. Outright suspicion at the jar of honeyed almonds.
“This is a picnic bag,” she said, holding up a tin of calming tea from Petalor’s apothecary.
I took the tea and placed it in the bag once more. “It is a supply pack.”
“Guruk.” She held up a container of grapes.
“You require consistent nourishment,” I said with great dignity. “You forget to eat when you are focused on a task. I have observed this pattern many times.”
Her mouth pressed together in that way that meant she was trying not to smile and was annoyed at herself for it. She set the container back in the bag. She did not remove it.
I considered that a victory.
“Fine.” She slung her own pack over one shoulder—far too heavy. We would renegotiate its contents after the sheriff’s office. “But I'm keeping the pickax.”
Sammy retrieved it from the trunk and hung it on her belt.
“I would expect nothing less.” I eased her pack from her shoulder and hoisted it onto my back along with the canvas bag I’d packed.
Before she could protest, Berry appeared from down the hall in a lazy, drifting path, their three pink tails trailing behind like ribbons in still water. They hopped atop my shoulder with the confidence of someone who had decided it was their rightful perch and settled in with a contented sound.
Sammy looked at the florin. “Et tu, Berry?”
