Free Crewel Lye by Piers Anthony

top of my head, waking me.
    You see, I had had about ten hours to heal, and this was enough. I hadn't really been killed; I had been knocked out, my face bitten off, and my guts eviscerated. By this time I had grown back my face and guts and healed the wounds. It took longer than it had to mend my crushed leg--the roc incident--because regrowing is more complicated than merely healing existing anatomy. I remained a little weak from loss of flesh, since my healing does not create matter from nothing; it draws on the remaining resources of my body. But I could function; I had been a strapping young man before this started and now was merely less strapping. Tissue from my big muscles had been co-opted to replace my guts. “Knock over the pot,” I told Pook.
    He did so--this was the first solid evidence that he understood my words completely--and I floated out with the spilled water. The Callis were such solid sleepers that neither the clang nor the water sloshing by aroused them. Indeed, the noise could hardly be distinguished over their horrendous snoring, and the water was no more voluminous than their droolings.
    I climbed unsteadily to my feet and got on Pook's back, pausing only to recover my good sword. My bow had been lost by the Callicantzari; maybe they had used it as part of the wood for the upcoming cooking-fire. I wouldn't put such an outrage past such creatures! I still wore my boots; they hadn't thought to take them off me before putting me in the pot.
    Then we were off, coursing upward through the passages, leaving the thick noise and stink behind. At last we emerged into the wonderful bright morning on the southeast slope of the mountain. Oh, what relief it was! If I had to die, I much preferred to perish in the open wilderness, rather than in the dank, closed caverns.

Xanth 8 - Crewel Lye
    Chapter 4: Elf Elm.
    We found a fresh stream and a copse of pie trees, and I drank and ate and foraged for suitable replacement clothing from shoe-trees--my boots were sloshingly soaked, so I needed temporary footwear while they dried--trouser-trees, and shirt-trees, to replace what I had lost, while Pook grazed. I didn't try to hold or confine him; I lacked the strength, and anyway I didn't feel I had a right, since he had come back for me on his own. Maybe he wasn't tame, but he had chosen to be my companion for a while. I wondered why. I saw that he did not stray at all far from me, and I doubted this was from sudden affection. I hoped I wasn't being overly cynical--but then I knew I had brought him a lot of trouble, and barbarians aren't noted for comprehension of the nuances of interpersonal behavior.
    It wasn't long before I found out. Pook lifted his head, rattled his chains, and moved toward me.
    “You want me to ride you?” I asked, bemused. “You're not taking off alone into the wilds of the wilderness, knowing that I presently lack the strength or inclination to chase you down again?” Actually, I was stuffed with pies, which made me sluggish rather than weak, but this was also the first use of my new face and digestive tract. Startups are always awkward, and it takes a few hours to get the bugs out; there was a lot of gas, and I felt a little green. But every time I burped, another bug flew out, and I knew they would all be gone in a few more hours. There was no question that I was underweight, though; my thews were pitiful. In a few days I would be as good as new, more or less literally, but I needed lots of rest and food in the interim. I was no Magician; my magic talent had to be tempered with moderation.
    I really appreciated Pook's offer, whatever its motive. It was easier to ride than to walk, until my leg muscles filled out. So I harvested some cushions from the surrounding bushes, fashioned them into a saddle seat that would prevent the chains from pinching my rear, and mounted. We began making our way south at a cautious pace.
    And the elves arrived.
    Oho! That was why Pook needed me. Elves generally