Chapter 77: Acceptance (Part 1)

Shortly after Finn’s defeat on the first floor, he was already making the walk home. Much sooner than he had expected.

The forest path was familiar enough that he barely needed to pay attention to where he was going. His boots followed the worn trail between the trees while his mind jumped from one thought to another.

He had learned a skill. An actual skill.

Finn still felt a little thrill every time he thought about it.

Sweeping Strike.

He had used it. He had felt the difference immediately when the sword moved through the air. It wasn’t just him swinging harder or faster. Something had happened. His body had known how to move in a way it hadn’t before.

He couldn’t wait to show Rowan.

Then his smile faded. Because immediately after learning his first skill, every sheep on the floor had charged him at once.

Finn frowned as he stepped over a thick root crossing the path.

He still didn’t understand that part. There had been several sheep nearby, but they had mostly ignored him until he attacked one. Then suddenly all of them seemed to notice him at the same time.

Maybe he had wandered too close to the flock. Or maybe sheep became more aggressive when there were enough of them together.

He would have to watch more carefully next time. Assuming there was a next time.

Finn grimaced. There was also the matter of his sword.

Again.

He had somehow managed to lose his grandfather’s sword in the exact same dungeon twice. The first time had been embarrassing enough. But the second time felt considerably worse.

Finn spent the rest of the walk trying to decide exactly how he was going to explain that to his father.

By the time he reached the farm, he still hadn’t figured it out. He came out of the tree line and immediately noticed two figures farther out in the fields.

His father and Rowan were still working. The plowing hadn’t stopped just because he had been given the day to go to the dungeon.

For a moment, he stood near the edge of the field watching them. Then he quietly walked toward the tools, and picked up his hoe.

Neither of them said anything when he joined them. Rowan glanced over first. Their father looked up a few moments later. Finn gave them a small smile and started working.

The three of them continued through the afternoon together.

Finn had already spent most of the morning fighting sheep, and his arms were beginning to ache again before long, but he didn’t complain. He worked down the row beside Rowan, breaking apart the soil while his father worked farther ahead.

The steady rhythm was familiar. Finn lifted the hoe, drove it into the soil, pulled the earth loose, then moved forward and did it again.

By the time the sun had dropped lower in the sky, sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt and dirt covered most of his hands.

"Boys!"

All three of them looked toward the house. Finn’s mother stood near the edge of the field with one hand raised.

"Dinner!"

Then she seemed to notice there were three people working instead of two. Her eyes settled on Finn.

"I thought you went to the dungeon today?"

Finn rested both hands on top of the hoe and smiled.

"I did. I just came back sooner than I thought."

He glanced toward the unfinished field. "Figured I could help out a little more."

His mother’s expression softened. "I’m glad you’re okay, sweetie."

She looked between the three of them.

"Come get washed up. I was able to trade some eggs for bones from the butcher, so tonight’s soup should be good."

Finn’s stomach immediately reminded him that he had not eaten since earlier that morning.

"That sounds really good."

His father approached from the next row. "Hand me your tools. I’ll put them in the shed."

Finn didn’t think anything of it. He passed over the hoe and headed toward the well with Rowan. The water was cold enough to make him suck in a breath when he splashed it over his face, but after an afternoon in the field, it felt good.

Rowan leaned against the side of the well while he waited.

"So?"

Finn wiped the dirt from around his neck.

"So what?"

"How did it go?"

Finn paused.

"Well..."

He reached for the old towel hanging nearby and dried his face. There were several possible answers to that question. Most of them involved sheep.

Instead, Finn turned toward his brother with a grin already spreading across his face.

"I learned a skill."

Rowan stared at him.

Then laughed. "No, you didn’t."

"I really did! It’s called Sweeping Strike."

The laughter disappeared almost immediately. Rowan studied his face for another second.

"Wait. You’re serious?"

Finn nodded eagerly.

"Yep!"

"Whoa."

A grin spread across Rowan’s face. "My brother learned a skill!"

Finn laughed when Rowan grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. "I heard it’s not easy for adventurers to learn skills. Congratulations, Finn!"

"I just washed myself!" Finn complained, trying to push him away. "You’re getting me dirty again!"

"That sounds like an adventurer problem."

They were both still laughing when their father approached.

"What’s going on over here?"

His voice was stern, but the corners of his eyes were already creased with amusement.

Rowan finally released Finn.

"Dad, Finn learned a skill today."

Their father stopped.

Finn nodded quickly.

"I did! It’s called—"

He stopped when his attention dropped to his father’s hand. A rusty shovel rested against his shoulder.

Finn stared at it. "Dad, what’s that?"

His father looked down as if he had almost forgotten he was carrying it.

"This?"

Finn nodded.

His father cleared his throat. "I figured you’d need something to get your sword back."

Finn looked at the shovel more closely. Of course he recognized it. It was the same one he had taken without asking the first time he lost his sword.

The iron head was rusted around the edges, and the wooden handle had been repaired more than once, but it was still used constantly around the farm. Losing it would not just mean replacing an old tool. It would mean spending money they did not really have on something they actually needed.

Finn looked back at his father. "You’re really giving me this?"

His father glanced toward the field.

"Well, I’m not going to let my adventurer son go in empty-handed."

Finn’s smile softened. Last time, he had snuck the shovel away because he was desperate. This time, his father was handing it to him willingly.

"Dad..."

His father pushed the shovel toward him.

"Just don’t you dare lose it too. Understand?"