William decided to go where the questing was ripe, and a good place for that sounded like Ol' Farmer Buttermilk's farm to the southwest of the city. So the next day, supplies in tow and having fed Blubberfang to keep him plumped up, the young fox headed out on the western road and took the bend south back towards the fields. This time, however, instead of wandering blindly into the tall wavy grass, he stayed on the path until he encountered wooden fences leading the way to a barn, a few shacks and a country style house all huddled into a homey settlement.
In a nearby corral were some of the largest cows he had ever seen, hugely round and fat with udders brushing the ground. They chewed and munched on the tall grass of the fields without a care.
Ol' Farmer Buttermilk was managing his milk stand. People came from all around to bring home his milk, some of the freshest and most definitely the creamiest around, but today there were no customers at the stand and the plump goat looked distressed.
"Mr. Buttermilk!" William called over, waving his hand as he approached.
"My my... William? Little William, is that you in all that armor? Don't tell me you've decided to take after your father now..." Ol' Farmer Buttermilk said, but through a knowing smile.
"You bet I have. And what better way to start my adventures than by helping out an important local business?" William grinned back.
"Haha, I'm glad you're here. Your father would be proud." The old goat said. "Actually, you've come at the right time. I could use a hand. Beasts have been picking off my cattle, and I ain't one to go picking a fight with a wild lion." Buttermilk shook his head in dismay.
"Lions?" William asked. Lions weren't a usual predator to the area.
"You heard me. There's lions in them fields! People say they came up north here fer the food, since eatin's been good the past decade or two. Now they're eatin' up some of the deer, even some wolves, and worst of all, my cattle! Rumor has it they ain't the only beasts out and about these days that don't belong here... But you know what I say?" He paused for a moment, then put his hands on his pudgy sides impatiently.
"No... what do you say?" William said, urging him on.
"Well," The old goat continued as if he hadn't paused, "I'd say something's urging them on. Wildlings. They've got some spooky shaman camped out somewhere and sometimes at night you can hear them chantin' strange things and see puffs of smoke in the distance. Ever since they got riled up we've been seeing all these beasts like lions and tigers and even an elephant wandering around! Do yerself a favor, boy. If you see a wildling, be careful. But I'll pay you a good price for any lion pelts you bring me! I'll even let you keep a few. Maybe you can make a cloak or something, I dunno what you adventurous types do."
William nodded, having listened to everything the farmer had to say. "Sounds like a deal. I'll do what I can, and if I see a wildling, who knows? Maybe I'll bring back it's head too!" With that, he turned and headed off to the fields, Ol' Farmer Buttermilk calling behind him.
"Don't get cocky now, boy! There's trouble brewin'!" His voice faded into the distance as William entered the fields.
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