Rubbing his bandaged leg, the old man let out an exasperated sigh before signaling Chris to follow him. As he followed, Chris noticed how the spike bushes really had spread and grown, along with the way they clumped together like tumbleweeds filled with thorns, only faintly resembling bushes in his opinion. All tightly packed together and entrenching themselves into the ground, he smiled slightly at the way they bristled excitedly as he walked past, clearly trying to show off their spikes if the way they jutted them out was any indication.
The cacti had also grown noticeably more than expected, now taller than he was and extremely thick, with a few prickly pears already forming. Their long arms swayed happily as if to wave to him.
Looking behind him, he saw how the hut they were in was entirely consumed by the pair of vines slowly slithering across the outside as a pair tipped with bright red flowers seemed to closely follow their departure, forcing him to realize how aggressively they had spread. He could faintly see an ugly-looking thorn, hooked and jagged, extending slowly from within the center of the bright red flowers, making him shiver.
Their soft, velvety voices whispering in far too much detail once more on how the hook from their flower would drain and devour the various prey from the inside didn't help much, instead making him feel nauseous.
Quickly turning to focus ahead again, he took note of the cloud tree and once more couldn't help but realize how much it looked like a palm tree with slight differences. Its umbrella-like leaves seemed to be tinted blue with a faint mist swirling around them. He could even faintly make out a few buds sprouting between its ribs when he squinted hard.
"Your cloud tree is different as well; it's grown taller than most I've seen yet has remained thin." The old man began as he followed Chris's gaze. "The common type tends to swell as they grow, taking a portion of the water they generate into themselves so when the dry times come they sustain themselves." He explained before pausing. "I said they're used on farms and they are, but they're often given space so their roots don't strangle the other plants. This one, though, doesn't seem to be spreading roots outward; I dug next to it to check. It's rooting downward, and that large root is where it's storing water. The only cloud tree part I can honestly say matches my knowledge is how its leaves are becoming a canopy, but even then they're leaving plenty of space for light to reach the ground." The old man grumbled, muttering under his breath about troublesome people.
It was moments later they arrived at the old man's hut. The inside looked similar to his own except the table was messy with a trunk sat at its side, the bedding was slightly dirty, and he saw what seemed like a set of makeshift curtains hanging in front of the window.
He watched as the old man bent down awkwardly, hissing slightly as his wounded leg bent and groaning as he seemed to pull a bag out from under his bed. What followed soon after was a long lecture about how dangerous his plants seemed to be, the impact they could and were having on everything around them, and once more being told to think before he plants stuff before they began to slowly discuss what could be useful out here in the Barrens. The old man elegantly telling him through a generous amount of cursing how even if the ecosystem was already stuffed up, it didn't give him the right to continue to do so intentionally.
And like that, days slowly began to pass as a rhythm was steadily formed. In the morning they would clean up the bodies that were left by the vines, scattering them roughly in the direction of the dungeon, while those still intact yet mostly drained of blood were moved to the storeroom, the old man teaching him how to skin and clean them along with how to use the special salt to dry and preserve the meat.
Their meals now consisted of wolf meat slowly cooked over a fire made from dried bits of wood given by the spike bushes and some flint stones the old man had kept from a passing adventurer a few years back. The old man almost cried at having the opportunity to eat cooked meat again rather than the dried meat he had been having for years. Chris kept quiet and ate it with a neutral face, realizing bland meat would be a constant in his future.
What they didn't eat or store was taken as tribute, the old man explaining how he hoped it would serve as an appeasement to have it overlook what was happening in its territory.
Their nights were often spent in the vine-covered hut, taking shifts to keep watch, keeping count of the number of wolves and dogs that were killed by the vines.
On occasion Chris heard the old man muttering to himself about the numbers not making sense. More than once he heard the old man remark that there were too many of them or how their numbers should have thinned. His words caused Chris to worry, but he didn't ask or question it just yet, choosing to trust the old man.
The minotaur had also made a reappearance along with what seemed like a deformed pig the old man told him later was called a hell boar. He felt proud that he didn't freeze at the sight of either of them, even if he almost wet himself in fear, but he didn't freeze, which he took as a big step of improvement.
Looking at the pig he realized it had gotten its name due to the way patches of skin seemed to be bright red and black with large cracks, letting red, ugly flesh be seen across its form. He managed to keep his calm when the boar charged mindlessly towards their hut, having earned a nod from the old man before he asked almost mockingly to Chris if he felt it was somehow some kind of amazing feat.
But when he did flinch as the vines began to rip into it, or when they began tearing chunks from it, the old man reluctantly told him he was improving. The vines continued to consume two-thirds of the boar before presenting the final third to him with a tone that seemed like nervousness that quickly turned into pride and joy when he reluctantly accepted it. They had even told him it was the most delicious meal so far, while going into far too much detail on its taste and texture again.