Fox Friends, Dog Companions

Igo ducked his head. "Well... the steward said your head injury hadn't healed yet. He was worried you'd get into another accident, so he told me to attend you."

Roger guessed Bitter Melon Face still did not trust him and had sent a tail to follow and watch him. But he did not care. With a grand sweep of his hand, he said, "Then follow behind me and eat my dust."

After taking two steps, Roger suddenly remembered something and stopped short. Little Horseherd crashed into him.

"Igo, I remember you're a horseherd. Can you handle the matters in the stables?"

Igo looked instantly alert. "Young Master Roger, what are you trying to do again? You were only just released."

Half an hour later...

"I told you to steal a horse, you useless fool, and you led out a big dog instead."

Roger kept grumbling at Igo behind him. The donkey beneath him was far too small; as it swayed along, Roger's feet occasionally scraped the ground. His freshly polished riding boots were already covered in mud.

The ride was certainly not ideal, but at least he did not have to walk along the muddy country roads after the rain. So despite swaying left and right on the donkey's back, Roger was actually enjoying himself quite a bit.

"Young Master Roger, there are only two riding horses in the estate stable. The master and eldest young master took both to war. The remaining mixed-breed horse was kept at home for emergencies—we absolutely can't steal it."

"As for that blue mule in the stable, Steward Budd needs to harness it at noon to collect wool in the north. That can't be stolen either."

"I even risked getting beaten senseless by the pockmarked horseherd to steal this donkey for you." Igo complained to Roger with a deeply wronged expression.

In truth, Igo could have stolen that mixed-breed horse. After all, his mother was both the estate cook and the lady's personal maid, holding considerable status among the servants.

Besides, Bitter Melon Face had deliberately trained him as the next steward. That pockmarked horseherd would never dare provoke him.

But Little Horseherd had his own little scheme tucked away in his heart. He thought that if he really stole a horse for Young Master Roger, Roger might leap onto it and vanish in a puff of smoke. How could he possibly catch up?

If Young Master Roger ran off and caused trouble again, he would certainly not escape the steward's heavy punishment. So he had only led out the donkey for Roger. At least the little donkey could not run fast.

Thus master and servant ambled along, chatting here and there.

This was the country road leading from the "Milk House" Estate to Brodick. The muddy roadbed had been crushed into deep ruts, and several water-filled pits appeared from time to time. One careless step, and someone would sink into the muddy water.

By the Monamore River, the "Milk House" Estate consisted of a lord's manor and more than thirty low stone cottages with little yards, like hobbit homes.

After leaving the estate, there were few large settlements along the way. Occasionally, they saw two or three tiny shacks piled together from weeds and loose stones, with small vegetable plots enclosed by fences around them.

They were the homes of poor tenant farmers and serfs. Entire families of five or six, along with chickens, ducks, pigs, and dogs, were crammed into those broken shacks.

The "Milk House" Estate was already considered a fairly large village settlement on Allen Island, but in Roger's eyes, it was merely a large courtyard formed by thirty or forty farming households. How could it count as a village settlement? As for the so-called small settlements along the road, Roger did not even know how to define them.

At the village entrance stood a stone cross beside the road. Strip-shaped fields stretched along both sides, extending outward toward rolling wasteland thick with wild grass on one side and Lamlash Bay on the other.

Since Roger's father was the younger brother of the Baron of Allen Island, most of the five hundred acres of farmland belonging to his family's fief estate were fairly fertile. Lamlash Bay also provided fish and shrimp, so the estate's people could barely get by.

But the other minor lords of Allen Island were not so fortunate. There was little arable land on the island, and even less good land capable of growing wheat. Combined with the bitter cold of the north, winter wheat yields were very low.

Each year, crops grown on the island could provide less than nine months of food. The remainder had to be filled through wool, fishing, or trade. Of course, the most direct and most profitable method was to march out with an army. The rewards of war often came as a pleasant surprise.

High summer had arrived. Lightly dressed farmers worked beneath the blazing sun, hoeing weeds in the fields or taking advantage of the slack season to turn over fallow land.

At first, several farming households close to the road paused their work and looked over when they saw people approaching. But when Roger drew near and they recognized the demon young master from Lord Colin's family, they hurriedly lowered their heads and bent their backs, nearly burying their faces in the soil, terrified that a single glance upward might draw that demon's attention.

Roger looked at those farmers burying their heads in the earth like moles, his face going dark.

From his hazy memories and Igo's tactful descriptions, he knew he was extremely unpopular on the island. But he had never imagined he was hated to such an extent.

The rest of the way was much the same. Wherever Roger passed, people fled as though avoiding a plague god. Especially passersby accompanied by womenfolk—at the mere sight of Roger in the distance, they would drag the women away and scatter for their lives.

What the hell did he do to deserve this? Roger cursed the original owner under his breath.

After following the shoreline of Lamlash Bay for a while, the two left the carriage road toward Brodick and took a small side path to a little village called Lamlash.

Together with Holy Island across the bay, also known as Saint Island and with no permanent residents, this was part of Roger's father's knightly fief.

Lamlash had originally been a gathering place for fishermen and was also called Fisherman's Harbor. At its height, it had over thirty fishing households, with more than a dozen small boats casting nets in Lamlash Bay every day.

But five years ago, a rare hurricane had struck the place and destroyed large numbers of houses.

Along with the gradual decline of Allen Island's maritime trade, the island's population had dwindled, and the market for seafood had withered. The village fishermen gradually abandoned their original trade, leaving the island to make a living or becoming genuine tenant farmers.

Only seven households remained in the little village now, yet they were among the few who did not despise Roger.

When Roger rode the donkey toward the fishermen's huts, two fishing households even dared to come outside and greet the pair.

It was hardly strange. In this era, fishermen reeking of fish were the least welcome people. Their social standing was even lower than that of serfs who had lost their freedom. Whenever people encountered fishermen, they covered their noses and kept far away.

This was the place Steward Bitter Melon Face refused to visit in person even when collecting taxes every year.

But none of that was a problem for Roger. The fishy smell was a little strong, but he did not think those people were lowly in the slightest.

Covering his nose, Igo complained, "Young Master Roger, what did you have to come here to see? It stinks too much."

Roger said nothing. He merely waited quietly at the village's "gate," made from several dead branches, while curiously examining the fishing nets hanging from wooden frames.

Sure enough, before long, a bald man in green emerged from some fisherman's thatched hut with two thugs who looked much the same.

The bald man in green took the lead, raising a hand in greeting as he hurried over with a smile piled across his face. "Young Master Roger, you finally came out."

The other two thugs were both around twenty. Their ragged clothes could not conceal the filth caked over their skin from sweat, mud, and flakes of dead skin.

Fortunately, it was midsummer. At least they did not have to worry about freezing to death.

"Young Master Roger, these two are both my good brothers." Baldhead was worried Roger had been away from the island too long and would not know the local talent.

The bald man in green pulled over a thug missing half a front tooth and introduced him to Roger. "This is Leman. Just call him Gray Rat. The roast chicken you ate last time was brought by him."

Then he pointed at the other man, whose forehead was still bruised. "This is Earl Haraldson, a Viking descendant. He can really fight. Just call him Ponytail."

Roger swept his eyes over the pair. Both looked somewhat familiar; he had probably met them in his "previous life" as well.

The first, Missing Tooth, had sharp glints in his eyes and a timid bearing. He was undoubtedly a habitual thief.

The second fellow, who actually had a name and surname, was well-proportioned, but wore an absurd ponytail on his head. Roger could not say whether he was truly a Viking descendant, nor whether he could fight, but judging from the bruises of varying ages covering his face, he could definitely take a beating.

No surprise there. Anyone who mixed with Baldhead was no outstanding thug.

Roger jumped down from the donkey's back and clasped his hands slightly toward them. None of them had ever seen such a gesture, and for a moment they did not know how to respond. They could only grin shamelessly in return.

Roger vaguely remembered that before the original owner's accident, there had been another thug traveling with them, wrapped in a filthy black cloak. He asked the bald man in green, "I remember there was another brother in a black cloak. What was his name again...?"

"Ah, you mean Blackhide Dog. The day after your accident, he was caught stealing from the Baron's house."

"He's still locked in the Baron's castle dungeon. When the Baron returns, he'll probably lose a hand." Baldhead spoke with great animation, even carrying a hint of pride in his words. He presumably considered daring to steal from the Baron an honor in itself.

"There are several more fellows who couldn't come today. I'll introduce them to you later."

Roger sighed inwardly. Such a small Allen Island truly hid crouching tigers and coiling dragons.

"Green Toad, you've come to ruin my young master again!" Before Roger could speak, Igo behind him was already cursing Baldhead loudly.

Baldhead's toad eyes widened at the words. Seeing that it was the "familiar" Little Horseherd, he raised his hand and stepped forward as if to hit him.

Then he suddenly remembered Roger was standing beside him and quickly stopped, scolding, "You little horseherd, I'm talking to Young Master Roger. What right does a little bastard like you have to interrupt? Watch out, or I'll tear that stinking mouth of yours apart."

Little Horseherd Igo had followed the old steward in driving off the bald man in green with sticks several times recently. He was not afraid of this incapable thug at all.

He lifted his head to curse back, but Roger turned around and snapped in a low voice, "They're all my friends. Don't be rude to them."

Hearing his young master call these thugs and hooligans his friends, Little Horseherd immediately warned him, "Young Master Roger, have you forgotten your head injury? You nearly lost your life."

"Shut up."

Igo looked deeply indignant, but he did not dare argue further with the thugs. Still, he refused to look at them directly.

The thugs heard Roger call them friends, and their self-esteem was greatly satisfied. They no longer held Little Horseherd's rudeness against him.

"Come on, Young Master Roger. Today, we'll drink until we're dead drunk." Baldhead skillfully took hold of the donkey and led the way, while the other two thugs hurried forward to support the donkey's rear from either side.

"Young Master, weren't you going to the church?" Igo stepped forward and grabbed Roger's sleeve.

Roger pulled his sleeve free. "I never said I was only going to the church."