Feyland: The First Adventure

Scene Three

Clearly she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the weird little creature until she’d brought him milk. Whatever. Jennet walked around the cottage, looking for clues, and when she got back to the front step, the creature was holding a wooden bowl cradled between his knobbly fingers.

“Slow-witted mortal,” he said, holding out the bowl. “Fill this with milk from the black cow over yonder hill.”

Jennet took it, careful not to touch the creature. Something about him was just too odd for comfort. Bowl tucked under her arm, she headed for the rise behind the cottage. The wind tugged a strand of her hair free, and she pushed it behind her ear. She could almost feel the warm sunshine, like a hand upon her shoulder.

At the top of the hill she took a moment to appreciate the view. The grassy hills, green-gold in the sunlight, rolled away before her. A small valley lay below, the silvery glint of a stream at the bottom edged by graceful cottonwoods. Farther out, a darker line of trees stood. Pines, maybe. Behind them, the blue shadows of mountains rose, jagged against the sky.

The world of Feyland beckoned, a fantastic place to explore. But first, she had to get some milk.

A white fence enclosed a small field below, holding—as the creature had promised—a black cow. She’d never actually milked a cow before, but surely the game designers wouldn’t make it too hard.

Of course, she had to catch the cow first. Jennet climbed over the fence. The cow watched her with soft, placid eyes, but every time she got close enough to grasp the red harness it wore, somehow the animal ended up on the other side of the meadow.

She plucked handfuls of grass to entice it, tried sprinting and sneaking, and finally, after ten useless minutes, gave it up.

Fine. Jennet set the bowl down and crossed her arms, deliberately ignoring the animal. What else could she use? There was nothing in her in-game inventory, and somehow she didn’t think blasting the cow with a Fireball would help. The creature had asked for milk, not rare steak.

There was some quote… something about music soothing the savage beast. Could that be the answer? And was it even possible to catch a cow with music?

She had to at least try, no matter how farfetched the notion. Leaning back against the white fence, she hummed a snatch of song they were working on in youth choir—Ca’ the Yowes.

To her surprise, the game picked up the song and amplified it. Jennet straightened. She started singing for real, pulling the air deep into her lungs and letting out a strand of melody that felt almost tangible.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 

Ca' them where the heather grows, 

Ca' them where the burnie rowes, 

My bonnie dearie.

The cow lifted its head and took a step forward. Jennet imagined the song surrounding the black cow, looping around its broad neck and leading it forward. The animal took another step toward her, then another. It was working! Keeping her breath steady, Jennet kept singing, drawing the cow closer and closer. At the last verse, she grasped the supple red leather of its harness with a burst of triumph.

The cow snorted when the song ended, but didn’t seem too unhappy to be caught. Jennet tied the cow to the fence rail and picked up the bowl. Giving a doubtful glance at the udder, she squatted down.

Was she actually supposed to grab the gross pink flesh? What if she pulled too hard, and the cow kicked her? Those hooves looked sharp.

She could do this. Really.