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Actually, what would I become if I sold all my evolutions back? Would I return to being a small sea serpent? Some manner of primeval slime?

But no, it was time to focus.

I had tried complaining about food, and Nurse de Rollo had taken pains to make each transition worse. I was getting my vegetables now, if somewhat more than wilted, and bonus bugs for a protein source. It turns out there was a cook, he just didn’t know the first thing about cooking for my biology.

To be fair, when I’d first arrived at Othello, I didn’t know much about dwarven nutrition, either.

I’d gotten my first look at the gate, the one way in or out of our habitation. The bars were thin, made out of a shiny coppery metal that was no alloy I could recognize. They didn’t taste like copper, brass, or bronze, either.

Depending on the guard, they either didn’t care as long as I was quiet about it, or they would threaten me. It wasn’t as if I were going to be able to gnaw my way through them. But they tasted better than the table or the walls, which were equally indigestible to me.

The door itself was a steel usually reserved for weapons and armor, only made into a slab most of a foot thick, and taller and broader than any door intended for dwarves had a right to be.

But I didn’t have to force the door. For all that I was surrounded by tools of madness, I didn’t need them, either. I just had to be near the exit at the right time. Middle of the day shift... or night shift, it was the shift when Dame Doctor Thuria conducted her interviews. Just after the mid-day meal, when the breathing of the guard at the desk deepened, slowed. When he leaned back in his chair, and...

.....

When he was asleep, I smooshed myself between the bars. It took great amounts of discipline to walk from there, especially past the room where the good doctor conducted her interviews.

They almost caught me, but almost wasn’t good enough.

From earlier, I could keep up a running pace for roughly two hours; none of them was so fit, and no matter how they screamed, the city watch wouldn’t help them chase me. I’d considered where to go, but made my way in that direction only once I was certain they were no longer following me.

As I may have mentioned, dwarven society doesn’t like doors. What they DO like were gates; large architectural pieces that were designed to withstand sieges by, for example, cyclops. During the day, though, they were open. Nobody cared if a near-naked lizard scampered out.

The sights, as I said, were blurry. But my ears and nose were healed, and were more than enough to forage with.

Oh, the animals were spry and the plants weren’t nutritious. But know what you can find an abundance of in the woodlands? If you said wood, then congratulate yourself.

Six stomachs of ten servings of two nutrition wood was a hundred twenty nutrition every two hours. And THAT was enough energy to make it to the minotaur wall by nightfall. I allowed myself a sigh of relief, as the sun set...

Oh, crap. I was on the wrong side of the mountain. What had the symbols on the map been, again? My brain refused to tell me. Whatever could be said about the western wall of Othello, it was lightly guarded compared to the east, and the soldiers either less disciplined or less energetic.

And then, the wall was between me and Othello.

One might have wondered why I hadn’t reported my abuses to the authorities. To say that children have little say in the politics of dwarven society... okay, they were property. Respected, well maintained property, but property nonetheless. Well, not to their parents. Without parents, there was Common Custody.

And, there was the matter that legally speaking, I was insane.

No, I was better off outside, where I could think and eat and live.

That lasted until morning, when I was hunting.

Remember me saying that nature was cruel?

I was foraging when a bird just fell out of the trees, fluttering wings just enough to land. Then, chirping in distress, the bird began hopping away from me, trailing one wing.

I asked,

She wasn’t, and I began salivating as I stalked her.

Yes, her. I was almost away from her nest when one of the young ones chirped. I stopped, stood there, and felt stupid.

For those of you who don’t know, this is a tactic mother birds use to remove predators from the area of their young ones. They pretend to be wounded, luring the predator away, step by step. They risk their own lives for the safety of their children.

What had I been DOING?

Dame Doctor Thuria knew I had siblings, knew that I cared about them. Were my actions needlessly endangering to them?

Was I about to be morally outdone by a mere bird?

I bent over enough to put the top of my head against a tree. There was no right answer. Or rather, there were multiple ones.

Mother bird stopped making such a fuss as I walked away. She had her family to tend to; I had to tend to mine, whether they hated me or not.

Man any wall with few enough people, and there are blind spots. Getting past the wall wasn’t a problem. The gate... that was another matter.

“You look like you haven’t bathed in a week.” one guard said.

I scratched my head. “It may actually have been that long.”

“You don’t look like you’ve got anything to trade. Are you sure you’re not looking for one of the other gates? People with horns on their head, maybe?”

“I’m certain.” I said. “I’m looking for Dame Doctor Thuria.”

Neither of the guards had heard of her, nor of the family that were my coinholders. So THAT was half a day, until they were satisfied that I only looked and smelled like a penniless bum.

“Get a bath over yourself.” the senior guard said. “And preferably some clothing.”

And I did both, courtesy of my earlier winnings. I was actually getting some food when Nurse de Rollo spotted me.

He blinked. I blinked back.

With a smile, he came toward me, making hand signs. Circular. As though...

[Surround him.] my System translated.

Well, to hell with that. I might have to go back, but I could at least do so on my own feet. I pulled my lips back to show the tips of my teeth, and approached him. “Nurse de Rollo!” I greeted him. “Well met.”

“Patient Rhishis-whatever.” he said. “Please come with me. The dame doctor has been out of sorts since you misplaced yourself last night.”

I stuffed a mushroom cap into my mouth. “I’ve never hidden my need for food from either you.”

I turned to my left, spotting one of the orderlies. Had I been imagining them being taller? It seemed so, seeing him at the same height as ... oh, he had been crouching, trying to hide.

No, the both of them were a head and part of a shoulder taller than the average dwarf.

Proportionately longer of arm, I also noticed.

“You don’t need the thugs.” I said to him in Furdish. “I’ll come peacefully.”

He looked at me as though I were babbling at him in a foreign tongue. It took me a bit too long to realize that was exactly what I had done.

“I don’t care what snotty languages you know.” he said. “If you make a scene, then you’d best not be relying on that armor to protect yourself.”

“Armor?” I asked, flicking the mail sleeve. “This, sir, is a finely tailored set of casual clothing.”

Nurse de Rollo’s complexion was redder than normal. “Clothing you must realize you’re not going to be permitted to keep. We can’t be treating one patient better than another, after all.”

“Isn’t that something better done back home?” I asked.

One of the orderlies lunged; I didn’t even try to dodge as he fastened his hands about my left wrist and forearm. After a heartbeat, the other assumed a two-handed grip on my right elbow.

Nurse de Rollo leaned in. “Not a word. Not a cry for help. We have you now.”

I shrugged, such as my captor’s grips allowed me. “I wasn’t going to be out much longer in any case. I have what I need.”

He took a look at the small backpack I was carrying, sorted roughly through it to find only food.

“You can’t expect me to believe this is just about extra food to keep yourself fat upon.”

“That would be insane, wouldn’t it?” I asked. “You seem to underestimate the value of a bath and a clean set of clothing.”

“Is that all you want?” he asked, “We. Can. Bathe. You.”

“After we get home? I seem to be at your mercy.”

So it seemed.

As mentioned, dwarvish clothing is of the chainmail sort, unless one is utterly impoverished. Or, well, insane.