The possibility of winter had completely slipped my mind.
For someone claiming to be a farmer, it was an inexcusable oversight. I don't want to make excuses, but if I had to, I’d blame the crops that grew at an abnormal speed and the forest that lacked any sense of the changing seasons. Even the weather had been deceptively mild; there had only been two or three days where it rained enough to stop my work, with most mornings bringing nothing more than a light sprinkle.
Still, it was entirely my own carelessness.
If it were just me, I could have managed somehow, but I had the pack to think about. Securing a stable food supply for Kuro and the others became my top priority. To store meat, I dug out a basement to serve as a cold-storage cellar. Being underground kept it reasonably chilled. I really should have built it sooner.
With the storage ready, I headed out to hunt rabbits with the wolves. Of course, once you actually go looking for them, they're nowhere to be found. I didn't manage to catch a single one myself, but Kuro and the others returned with a decent haul. I decided my role would be to handle the bloodletting and the processing of the organs.
Bloodletting is the process of draining the blood from the carcass immediately after the kill. Doing this significantly reduces the gamey, unpleasant smell of the meat. The rabbit meat I prepared this way was as delicious as high-quality boar. Because of that, I made sure to be thorough with every animal we caught.
As for the internal organs... they were a bit intimidating, so I usually just discarded them. Kuro and the others would watch me with expressions that seemed to say, "Wait, you're throwing that part away?" but organs spoil quickly. Frankly, preparing them for human consumption required more effort and knowledge than I had. Depending on the part, you might run into half-digested food or stomach acid. After seeing partially dissolved giant insects and strangely colored frogs inside them, I lost any appetite I might have had. The offal I’d eaten back in my old world always came from herbivores; it was probably safer not to gamble with the innards of carnivores or omnivores.
Then again, they were likely a vital source of nutrition for the pack. I’d never heard of wild animals avoiding organs; if anything, they usually went for them first. Using what knowledge I had from my previous life, I began separating everything except the digestive tract to give to the wolves.
I found a hard, stone-like object near the heart and wondered what to do with it. Was it some kind of gallstone? Since I found them in both rabbits and boars, I figured it must be a common trait for animals in this world. I offered one to the pack to see if they’d even want it, and they crunched it down with apparent delight. I guess it was some kind of treat to them.
From then on, the organ meat was reserved strictly for the wolves. I made it a rule that they had to eat it that same day—no leaving leftovers for the next morning.
By this point, Kuroichi, Kuroni, Kurosan, and Kuroyon had grown into fine adults. They were still a bit smaller than Kuro and Yuki, but they were formidable. The knife-like horns on their foreheads had developed a faint, red glow at the center.
I intended to leave the bulk of the hunting to them while I focused on support, but the pack had other ideas. They eventually lured a massive boar right toward me. It felt like they were either testing me or perhaps offering me the kill since I hadn't caught anything yet. Either way, I couldn't let the beast trample my fields, so I took its head with my Hoe.
I processed the boar immediately. If I were alone, this much meat would have been more than enough for the winter, but the wolves ate far more than I had anticipated. I’d need a few more boars to be safe.
Next, I gathered grass. Beyond the obvious need for "toilet paper," I needed a large stockpile to use as bedding. Since it was going to be a cold winter, I wanted to keep a significant surplus on hand. Experience had shown that the grass I used for my bed tended to fall apart after about ten days, though the grass I used for wiping stayed green and fresh for much longer, likely because it wasn't being crushed. As long as I stored it properly, it should hold up.
The real challenge was cutting, bundling, and transporting it all. I tried an experiment where I had the wolves carry the bundles, but between tying the grass to them and then untying it all myself at the hut, it was actually faster to just carry it on my own. I decided it was better to let the wolves focus on what they did best: hunting.
Then there was the issue of clothing. The wolves had their own fur, but I was still wearing the same simple tunic and trousers I’d started with. They were hardly suitable for a mountain winter. I looked at the rabbit and boar hides and wondered if I could make something.
I managed to skin them, but I hit a wall immediately after. I knew I needed to "tan" the hides, but I had no idea how. I vaguely recalled a survival manga where characters chewed on skins to soften them, but that didn't sound appealing. I also remembered a TV show where they washed the hides, dissolved the fat, and stretched them out to dry. I tried experimenting with the rabbit skins, but after ruining four of them, I gave up.
It was impossible. There was no way an amateur could figure out leatherworking from scratch with zero tools. I resigned myself to the idea of "hibernating" inside the hut for the duration of the winter.
I set to work winterizing my home. I prepared wooden shutters for the skylights that I could slot in when the weather turned foul. I added a second layer of boards to the walls and stuffed the gap with grass to act as insulation against the wind. Until now, my "door" had just been a board of a similar size leaned against the frame, but I put in the effort to install a real one. The trickiest part was the hinges. Since I had no metal or nails, I gave up on traditional hardware and carved the door and the support post to interlock, creating a wooden pivot. Its durability was questionable, but it would hold through the season.
With the door in place, the shack finally looked like a proper house. It felt like a triumph for civilization. With the house secured and the outhouse similarly insulated, I was as ready as I could be. If I absolutely had to go outside in the snow, I would have to rely on the Universal Farming Tool.
One day, while I was finishing up some chores, Kuroyon came running back from the hunt to get my attention. I assumed they’d found another boar, but he led me toward the area where I had been digging the waterway.
Thinking something had collapsed, I hurried after him, only to find Kurosan waiting for me. Beside her was a flat, black shape that stood out against the forest floor.
At first, I thought it was a large floor cushion—a zabuton. Then I realized it was a massive spider.
It was enormous. Its body alone was a square about the size of two tatami mats. If you factored in the eight legs, it spanned the width of a small room. I wasn't an expert on spiders, but its legs were relatively short for its size. The most striking feature was the thick fur covering its entire body and legs.
The spider sat perfectly still in front of Kurosan. I wasn't sure what to do. It didn't seem like they wanted me to hunt it, and Kuroyon looked quite proud of himself, as if he had successfully completed a vital mission.
As I stood there puzzled, Kurosan let out a bark toward the spider. At the signal, the creature began producing silk from its abdomen, manipulating the strands with incredible dexterity using its front legs.
After about five minutes, the spider had woven a shimmering piece of cloth roughly fifty centimeters square. It looked like a handkerchief. The spider folded it into quarters and placed it before Kurosan, who picked it up and brought it to me.
Was this... a tribute?
I took the cloth and felt it. The texture was far superior to anything I was currently wearing. It even had a small, spider-like design embroidered into the corner. Kuroyon gave the hem of my trousers a little tug and then looked back at the spider.
"Are you saying... I should have the spider make my clothes?"
Kuroyon barked happily.
I didn't have any particular dislike for spiders. They were beneficial creatures, after all. As long as it wasn't venomous, I didn't see a problem—and I desperately hoped it wasn't. The world runs on give-and-take, and that applies to animals and insects too. No relationship survives on one-sided exploitation.
And so, the spider moved in.
It made its home high up in the great tree where I used to sleep. It seemed to be an omnivore, though it had a surprising fondness for potatoes. Perhaps that was just a quirk of spiders in this world.
In exchange for food, it provided us with cloth. It didn't stop at just weaving, either; it could actually tailor the fabric into finished garments. It was incredible to watch. It even seemed to take my measurements by observing me.
When I asked for help with the house, it wove curtains for the skylights and a liner for the inside of the door, which helped immensely with the insulation. But the spider’s greatest talent was revealed when it took over the tanning process I had failed at. It was far more skilled and knowledgeable than I was. It combined the tanned furs with its own silk to create high-quality winter clothing. In terms of fashion and craftsmanship, its taste was leagues ahead of mine.
I couldn't imagine life without it now. Given my first impression of it, I decided to call the spider Zabuton.
It was a strange addition, but I had a new housemate.