It was another day, and Sigildred was back moving rocks and accosting the hard earth. The ordeal with that geyser had set him back a day`s work. Since he wasn`t able to catch whatever it was that came out after the water, it meant he still had to do the catch-up work all by himself.

　　The ground around the geyser was different now, however. It was dark with moisture. It wasn`t as hard as before and gave way easier to his farming sword.

　　How was it in Lord Kairon`s tutorial? He started making long mounds in straight lines along the damp ground. Furrows, he remembered they had been called.

　　Before long he had managed to - what was it called? - "till" his patch of ground. It was much more enjoyable without the hard, stony ground resisting the whole time.

　　He took a moment to throw down his blade, wipe his brow, and retire to the nearby pool of water. The wet ground may be easier to till, but it made the air heavier. He fanned himself with his broad hat.

　　He idly watched the heat haze warp reality over his farm.

　　Over there was his only other possession besides his farming sword and his hat. Funny, it almost looked like-

　　Sigildred was on his feet and charging to his only sack of seeds, which was being ransacked by a small, scaly thing. Sigildred did not know the word for kobold.

　　It was digging through the leather sack, throwing the seeds behind it hand over first.

　　Sigildred`s quaking footsteps got its attention.

　　Panic gripped the kobold when it saw the charging hulk, so it grabbed the seed bag and ran. Seeds spraying from the sack, the orc chased the kobold up and down the rows. Grunts and curses welled from the farmer as it tailed the shrieking thing.

　　Right when he thought he`d crossed a furrow to intercept the kobold, it would shriek in an explosion of seeds and run the opposite direction.

　　He was at least fast enough to keep it cornered on flat ground, but it evaded his wild grabs by slipping between his legs or diving at just the wrong time.

　　A lucky thrust finally caught the kobold around the neck with an "urp!"

　　He held it up to his face and, making no effort to conceal his displeasure, took the seeds out of the creature`s unresisting claw.

　　Sigildred could feel by the weight that the sack was mostly empty.

　　The kobold struggled and twisted in his grasp while he examined it.

　　"No open wounds," he muttered to himself, "High energy. Still young by my reckoning. Healthy red scales."

　　It clawed against his hand, unable to find purchase. Sigildred continued, this time more clearly.

　　"Your first job, my new prisoner, will be to pick up all these seeds."

　　Countless tiny oblong shapes lay strewn about the farm plot. There weren`t just peanuts scattered about, but the seeds of a myriad of steppeland staples. Grasses, thorny bushes, cactuses, and more.

　　"When Lord Kairon gave me this sack," he said, prodding the kobold in the chest, "he said these seeds need to be planted one pace apart and a finger-length deep. I`m not going to let a maggot morsel like you ruin this for me."

　　With a firm grasp on the kobold, he strode back to the water, almost relieved to have something go his way. It would only be one prisoner, but if it saved him some labor, he could spend his time looking for more. After all, every orc had the right to capture and imprison the lesser species that infested their territory.

　　If he had known the term, he might have called it an investment.

　　Per Lord Kairon`s tutorial, Sigildred had been working on making a wicker basket for crop collection in-between bouts of clearing and tilling his field. So far, it was just the framework, and the thing was about knee-high to him. It was perfect as a primitive holding cell if it was overturned on something small and secured with a heavy rock on top.

　　This he did with the kobold, who was almost too big.

　　"This`ll hold you until I get the ropes done." He indicated a spot a little distance away, populated by fibers and ropes-in-progress.

　　"It`s been slow going by myself," he said, and chuckled, "But you`ll be real familiar with it soon enough."

　　He sat down and set to braiding.

　　"Until you came along, it`s been nothing but bad luck," he rambled. The kobold probably didn`t understand him, but having someone else around opens the mind to conversation.

　　"The strangest things, too. Everyone says the ground don`t bleed, and I was likely to believe`em. No point in thrusting iron into dirt cause it can`t die. But now I know different."This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

　　He engrossed himself in his work as he talked.

　　"Naught but yesterday was I tilling, cutting the ground up, when-"

　　The prisoner made a rustling sound, and Sigildred looked up.

　　The rock had fallen off the cage.

　　"Oh no," he said petulantly as he quickly got up and stamped over, "No no."

　　He hefted it back on top, the sticks bending slightly under the weight, quashing the escape attempt.

　　"I won`t have none of that," he scolded.

　　He plodded back to his ropes, but something about the prisoner caught his attention.

　　"Hey, wasn`t you red before?"

　　The golden scaled kobold shook its head.

　　Sigildred studied it some more and asked, "Yeah, and you has kinda blue claws now."

　　These the kobold quickly took off the cage bars and hid behind its back.

　　Sigildred had come back to crouch by the cage. It didn`t look as cramped in the basket now, either.

　　"Wait a minute," Sigildred said, his mind having just put one and one together, "You understood me."

　　The prisoner nodded and said, "That`s right."

　　"And you can talk. That`s two tricks I won`t have to teach you."

　　"You won`t be teaching me any tricks, actually. You`re going to let me go." The creature spoke confidently, as though Sigildred was the one in the cage instead.

　　"There`s a phrase you`re gonna un-learn," Sigildred growled. "I`m not letting you go, not when things are starting to look up for old Sigildred."

　　He stood and paced about as he tried to pin down the bee in his bonnet.

　　"It wouldn`t have been this bad in the first place if Skulltricia had left me something in the divorce. It`s not my fault I beat that Boldbreak within an inch of his life. He should know better than to insult a Sharpteeth like that, especially after a long day of work."

　　The prisoner watched silently as Sigildred fumed.

　　"So when Lord Kairon says I can be something called a farmer to win back my honor, I say I`ll do some farmering."

　　He was really rolling now. Sigildred couldn`t locate therapy on a map, but a quiet and attentive listener did to his walled up emotions what a ball peen hammer does to aquarium glass.

　　"But what do I know about farmering? It`s just like fighting` they says. Strike the earth, throw rocks,` they says. The only bit of excitement so far was when I was trapping you!" He made a plaintive gesture at the kobold in its basket.

　　"I just wish something would attack me in the night so I could strangle it," he said grumpily.

　　"The ground`s too hard, for one thing," he said as he kicked a stone, "At least, until I made it bleed yesterday."

　　He grew contemplative for a moment, and then returned to his rope braiding.

　　Silence returned as the orc transmuted crude fibers into a useful tool. The coil grew to a considerable length, and Sigildred was almost finished when the prisoner spoke.

　　"I could help with your farmering," it said a little uncertainly.

　　"That`s what the rope`s for," Sigildred replied.

　　"No, what I mean is different. You said the ground was easier to work with when you made it bleed? If you let me go, I could make it happen again."

　　"Once I got rope, I can make you do it."

　　"Put that rope on me and I`ll make sure the ground is never wet again." The prisoner`s voice sounded strange when it said that, like something much stronger was using the puny body.

　　Sigildred was not phased, but he did take notice.

　　"You can make the ground bleed again?" He scoffed. "You don`t look strong enough to break its skin."

　　The prisoner shrugged. "Imagine how much slower things will go if you force me to work and all the water dries up."

　　Sigildred did notice the ground was getting considerably lighter. Before long, it would all be back to its dry toughness from before.

　　If he, a strong and powerful orc, found it tough going, a measly prisoner was guaranteed to do a worse job.

　　"Ok," he said, the ideas penetrating his plans, "so you`re saying you`re magic, and you can grant me a wish?"

　　"If you let me go, I can."

　　"What good does it do me for the ground to bleed just once? It`ll all dry up by day`s end."

　　"How about this," the prisoner said, the gears inside visibly turning, "I will make it bleed every day at the same time. Then, you can expect the ground to get wet and water your crops and soften the ground."

　　Inside, Sigildred was ecstatic. This thing didn`t know how to bargain. But he kept his face stony.

　　"All that for just letting you go?"

　　The prisoner paused for a moment.

　　"No. I will need something else."

　　"Name it, and I will consider." It felt good to be in charge for once.

　　"Over that way is a hole in the ground. That is my home. If anyone comes near it or tries to explore it, I will take back the wish. Your land will dry up and your crops will fail. You will try to till the ground and it will resist you. Rocks will migrate back to your land and the once sweet waters will become bitter-"

　　"Ok, ok," Sigildred said, waving a hand, "If I let you go and leave you alone, you`ll allow me to do farmering here. I think I get the cave painting. I`ll mark the hole with a stone or something to remind myself."

　　The prisoner was getting antsy, shuffling its feet and its eyes shifting about, but stayed silent. Sigildred processed the offer, one hand holding his other elbow and his finger tapping his chin.

　　"Ok, spirit, we have a deal. I won`t imprison you further. I`ll release you to your home and you`ll keep the water flowing."

　　No sooner had he chucked the rock over his shoulder than the basket flew into the air, exploding into tiny splinters.

　　In its place was a golden kobold with translucent blue wings.

　　"It took me ages to make that," Sigildred complained, but the kobold spoke in a commanding voice.

　　"Observe as I grant your wish."

　　It pointed to a spot on the ground, which just so happened to have been where the orc was blasted off his feet just the day before. Sigildred tried to squint past the heat haze to see what the kobold was pointing at. Nothing seemed to be happening.

　　Then all at once, a fountain sprang forth, showering the tilled ground around it and soaking the seeds.

　　A colorful aura descended, like a more solid rainbow springing from the droplets of water. The ground grew dark and damp as the water gushed forth, and then the water and colors died away, fading back as it was absorbed by the thirsty plot.

　　Sigildred looked doubtfully back up at the spirit.

　　"And that`ll happen every day?"

　　The hovering spirit nodded sagely. It said, "Go and inspect your field."

　　Sigildred plodded over, just a little indignantly at having been commanded. When he looked at the ground, he noticed a bit of the color had stayed behind. There were green flecks here and there.

　　The seeds were splitting open. Tiny green stalks were reaching for the sun. This amazed Sigildred, who looked incredulously from the newly hatched plants back to where the spirit had been hanging in the air.

　　There was nothing there. It had vanished.

　　"Thank you spirit!" he cried.

　　Meanwhile, Chicken was hurriedly escorting his troop of kobolds, who had been laying in wait, into the hole before they could be spotted.