I make my way out of the grove I’m currently in, and wonder how I made it here. My remembrance of what happened does not extend to the flight here.

As it comes time to step out of the trees, I pause. A shiver of fear coming across me. There’s something dreadful about stepping out of the protection of the trees. Which is silly, the whole encounter happened surrounded by trees, but my reason and emotion do not align. Reason proves the stronger of the two, and while I feel like I want to break out into a sprint again, I walk beneath the blue sky once again.

As I start walking, I feel all the filth on the dress and on my body rubbing around everywhere. Some of it is dried, some of it still wet, and it’s all around disgusting. I hardly noticed while fighting for my life, but now is a different story. Figuring out where the caravan was going can wait. All these farms here must have some way to get water.

I try to ignore the filth for now, and orient myself from atop a large hill. I think I can locate the place where this all happened. It’s not even all that far away. How much time did I actually spend running? It looks like I literally ran into then cowered in the first place that vaguely resembled the forest I’ve gotten so used to. Regardless, the shadows are beginning to lengthen, and soon it will be evening, so I must have spent a good few hours between running and hiding.

Now that I have some time, I try on the late bandit’s old boots, but they’re unsurprisingly way too large for me. I was hoping I could stuff them with something, but even if I did so these would be comically large. If only the one that died was the female bandit, then I would have a much better chance. I throw the boots in a ditch to the side of the field I’m walking through. No point in carrying along extra luggage.

My bare feet are fine now anyhow. Ever since stepping out of the forest, the ground has been blessedly free of obstacles and hidden dangers. I think I’ve walked more since coming here than I’d normally do in half a year, maybe a full one, and all without any shoes. I don’t doubt that I’d have been fucked if I’d ended up on a mountain—with hundreds of places to cut your feet—at the start, but even if appearing in the middle of a massive forest was messed up, it was a gentle introduction to some things.

Luckily, farms are not hard to find, the fields are everywhere, and within short order I spot a slightly larger farm. Moving through the grain and corn fields to approach makes me more or less invisible, and I’m once again reminded of how lucky I am to have arrived at exactly this time of the year. Had it been the middle of winter, I’d have frozen to death before even making it to civilization, and even if I had somehow managed that, I’d have had nowhere to hide, which has saved my life more times than I can count now.

As I’m walking, the scabbard with the sword keeps bouncing against my leg. How does anyone stand this? I want my spear back… I didn’t realize how nice it was to have a solid stick to lean on when going up and downhill all the time. I guess I should find a new solid branch.

The scale of this farm is slightly beyond what I’ve seen, with several outbuildings in addition to the main house. I sit down to observe from a hidden vantage, and hear the clanging of pots and pans from the house. That one’s clearly occupied. I scan the rest of the buildings. One smaller building, and a much larger one, which has the looks of something that houses animals, the low moo of a cow rumbling through the air. The large building has a cistern right next to it. Guides on the roof lead any water that might fall on there to the cistern.

A small jolt of joy shoots through me. I can’t believe I found exactly what I am looking for! I hadn’t dared hope they had anything more than a well or bucket full of water, like seemed to be the case in the logging village. Though I suppose a farm needs a great deal more water, it still feels like the universe is throwing me a bone for a change.

I make my way over to the cistern. Unfortunately between the cistern and the farmhouse is not much more than a circular open area that all the buildings are placed around, so if anyone comes out, I’ll immediately be spotted. Hopefully they’ll think twice about bothering someone covered in blood and armed with a sword. I smirk in mild disbelief at the idea they'd see me like this. I’d run screaming.

The cistern is large, several meters on a side, and lined with wood. I guess that makes sense considering the location. I can’t see how deep it is, but much deeper than I had expected. This seems dangerous to any kids that happen to run by and take a plunge. Well, I don’t care about that, I know how to swim.

I don’t want to make too much noise by just jumping in, so I carefully strip off my dirty dress and undershirt, leaving the sword right next to edge of the cistern. I then drag the clothes through the water. When I see how little this changes considering the body underneath is covered in grime, blood and various unidentifiable things as well. I grimace, and I have to hold back some bile. I was going to wait until my clothes were clean, but I’m suddenly convinced it’s better to do everything at once.

I quickly lower myself into the water, and —despite everything— sigh as I feel all the accumulated grime coming loose. How long has it been since I had a proper bath? I don’t even have to worry about any open wounds right now. I let myself sink beneath the water, and finally find out how deep the cistern really is. It’s honestly kind of amazing that they are able to build these things with medieval level technology. Though I suppose it really is just a big hole in the ground, I don’t want to think about how long it took them to dig this all out.

I keep an anxious eye on the farmhouse, my rapid heartbeat betraying my attempt to luxuriate in the water. It’s unfortunate that I can’t stand in here. I heave myself onto the side and wring out my hair. Red and brown streaks are left all over my body, and I quickly try to scrub off what remains, before taking another dunk. This time I come out looking more or less clean, certainly a lot better than the first time around.

I turn back to the clothes that are still soaking, a spreading film of disgust emanating from them. I hope people don’t use this cistern for drinking water. One by one, I pick them up, and rub the fabric against itself as best I can, to get the stains out. It’s hard going, and for a moment I contemplate just raiding the farmhouse. What are they going to do against a woman with a sword? If it’s even more than a woman and a few kids inside in the first place. All the men seem to be out working the fields.

I glance at the sky. With twilight soon approaching, the men might be on their way back. Anyway, I’m not that far gone yet, so I redouble my efforts, and soon have marginally cleaner clothes. Even the dried blood from my earlier wounds has more or less faded. Though the stains are still there, the dress now looks like it has been extremely well used, not like it’s owner had a casual stroll through an abbatoir.

Unfortunately the fabric is quite hard to wring out, and after I put on the soaked shirt and dress, I feel like I’m dragging a few stones around. But I’m clean, so that’s something. I’m putting on the belt again, when a small jolt of anxiety shoots through me. The door to the farmhouse opens. I take a step back to the wall, but there’s nowhere to go. I’ve been waiting for this though. Given my luck, at some point someone was bound to come out. I’m just glad it happened after I cleaned and put my clothes back on.

A young woman with platinum blonde hair steps out of the door, lost in thought. At my guess she’s a decade my junior, and quite beautiful. I internally congratulate whatever farmer has managed to snag this girl. Or maybe she’s the daughter? But I feel like I remember girls get married off much earlier? Of course that’s assuming this place works like early medieval Europe, but so far that seems to be a fairly accurate assessment.

While I’ve been staring off into space contemplating this, the girl has frozen in place, staring at me with her eyes wide. Well, yeah, that was expected too. It’s nearly comical how much her expression mirrors the one of the girl in the village when she saw me first. It should be much less shocking this time though. I’m soaked in water, not blood, and I’m wearing clothes!

While she looks fearful, she hasn’t sceamed yet. That’s a good sign I suppose. I can’t help but note that she’s wearing some shoes that should be more or less my size. But then, I’ve come this far without any. My feet are perfectly fine for walking when the ground is as soft as it is everywhere here.

Her mouth opens, and she utters a few hesitant words "Cò… cò thu?”. My jaw almost hits the floor in surprise. She’s talking?! I’d expected a lot of reactions, from screaming, to running or an immediate attack. I hadn’t expected her to start a conversation.

Unlike before, I can actually respond. Thanks Ronain, I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.

"Is mise Emma.” I hope that’s correct.

Maybe I shouldn’t have given her my name considering I just ruined their cistern. Eh, I guess it’ll be fine. I’m just happy someone other than Ronain decided to talk to me instead of immediately attack. I’m doubly happy that I managed to wash off all the blood and dirt before she came out. I’m sure the reaction would have been different if I’d looked like a bloody murderer.

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Of course, I suppose I am a bloody murderer, even if I don’t look like it. It's still a bit unsettling that I can’t bring myself to care about that. I should be feeling some guilt or something. Honestly, I’m not upset about it. That guy absolutely had it coming, and I shouldn't feel bad for offing him. I just didn’t expect it to be this easy to not care…

When I stop spacing out and look at the girl once again, her eyes are narrowed at me, her legs tensed, ready to bolt. Like I’ve suddenly become a great deal more dangerous. I wonder what that is about. I just gave her my name. Does she know a terrifying Emma? Then I notice that her gaze is locked on my left hand, which is tightly gripping the hilt of my sword. Damn! I immediately release it. I was trying to come off as less threatening. I don’t even remember grabbing it.

When I let go of the sword, she relaxes somewhat, but her gaze doesn’t leave the sword, and she slowly backs away back to the farmhouse. Well damn.

I suppose this is pretty much a hopeless situation now, which is a real bummer. I wasn’t planning on actually speaking; I either wanted to scare them away or just bolt myself, but now that I had a chance to talk and I ruined it, I can’t help but feel like I’ve missed out.

I give her a small wave, which I’ve confirmed with Ronain does still mean the same thing here. When my hand moves, she jumps, clearly scared out of her wits, expecting me to rush her or something. I’m tempted to do something else, just to see how she’ll react, but even if I’m no actual threat to her, it still feels like bullying. So I just turn around and walk away.

I guess I could have dropped the bandits boots here as some sort of payment for ruining their cistern, but I guess it’s too late now. I’m not really sure how expensive boots are anyway. I seem to remember it was one of the most expensive things you’d ever buy if you couldn’t make them yourself, but not certain now.

This diversion was absolutely worth it, but I should go see if I can figure out what the original destination of the caravan was. I can’t exactly follow them there any more.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

As I retrace my earlier steps over the same road, I wonder at the wisdom of it. I have a hard time believing any bandits would still be here after they finished stripping the caravan. I imagine it must have been a very dissappointing haul for them. Who attacks a bunch of wagons filled with trees? The only thing they could have taken was the stuff in the guard’s bags.

Maybe those mages were carrying some super expensive stuff to power their magic? That’d give a good reason for an assault, but then why would the caravan be so lightly guarded? Honestly, the mages and guards just didn’t seem like they’d have a lot more property than any of the woodcutters back in the village. Possibly less.

It’s a mystery, but not one I’m especially eager to spend a lot of time on. If there’s no bandits around any more, I’ll just take a quick peek at what remains of the caravan, maybe one of the guards had a map of some kind.

At the idea of casually strolling into the site of the ambush I’m suddenly filled with trepidation. There’s 6 dead bodies there. Killed in a variety of gruesome ways. Can I really just go there and search their pockets for a map or something of the kind?

For some reason the whole thing just puts me in the mindset of RPG’s I played. Just as stripping the dead man for loot came naturally, so does the instinct to ‘Search the bodies for the clue’. Never mind that it won’t be a matter of pressing a ‘take all’ button. The way to proceed seems so straightforward that I have a hard time thinking about what it actually entails.

I never thought that all those games would come to bite me in the ass. Am I subconsiously assuming things will proceed along the lines of a classic RPG? At least I responded naturally when faced with the prospect of imminent death, which, everything considered, is a weird thing to be happy about.

God, that casts so much doubt on my decision to proceed to wherever the wagons went. Going back to Ronain and telling him what happened seems so much safer. It’s only a bit more than half a days journey to get back. But… even if it’s subconcious, I don’t think I want to stop it. I can die, sure, my latest encounter proves that. But, holy shit! There’s some part of me that wants more…

I mean, sure, I was excited about ending up in a sorta low-fantasy world with real magic from the beginning, but I shouldn’t fucking still feel this pumped about it after almost getting myself killed. Lacking remorse about killing a man is one thing. Being excited at the prospect of doing it again is insane. Now that the fear has faded, all that's left is this rush of excitement about being in a real fight.

I seriously cannot trust my own feelings right now. I’m certain something is messed up. The world slows down for a moment as I suspicously look at the fruit juice still happily sloshing about in the mental copy of my stomach, but it doesn’t seem like anything has changed since I last inspected it back in the cave. The amount seems the same, or maybe it has increased a little bit?

I don’t feel like it’s anything that would affect my state of mind, but then, how would I even know if it did. There’s this bizarre feeling of certainty when I think that this must be a different world. Maybe it affects more than just those thoughts, and I just can’t distinguish it as easily? Is someone or something secretly nudging me in the direction they want me to go?

Well, whatever, I’ll just freak myself out if I keep thinking too much about it. Maybe going to investigate the site of the ambush will give me a reality check.

image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]

The afternoon is turning to twilight as I made it to the site of the ambush.

The first thing I confirm is whether the other bandits found the body, but the bandit I killed is still in the same location, not moved since I last touched him. The body is now covered in flies and other small creatures though, the forest already busy reclaiming his body.

My initial reaction is one of disgust, and I turn my head away. As I wonder what to do I find my initial disgust giving way to a different feeling though. I've never seen anything like this before. Never in a hundred years did I expect to ever see this, and despite myself, I find myself intrigued.

My eyes are drawn back to the body, and I feel a morbid curiosity take hold. I squat down next to it, my eyes taking in the details. The flies have already begun their work, crawling over the man's lifeless face, and I can't help but wince at the sight. Yet, there's an odd fascination in watching the process of nature reclaiming what was once alive.

I reach out a tentative hand, brushing away some of the flies. The skin is no longer warm and supple, but cool and waxy. I feel a mix of revulsion and wonder at the transformation death has wrought.

For all his brutality in life, there is a strange peace to him now. The anger and violence that had seemingly consumed him have been extinguished, leaving behind only this shell. I find myself wondering about his story, the circumstances that led him here. Was he a husband, a father? Did anyone mourn his passing, or was he simply another nameless bandit, destined to be forgotten? Why didn’t the other bandits find him and take him away? Was this man even part of their group, or did he just look like it and was simply passing by like I was?

Seeing him like this, I find myself surprisingly reluctant to simply leave him to the elements. In some way I feel like this man is my responsibility. I figured the other bandits would take their friend with them, but they just left him here like this. Even if he was a disgusting ox of a man, he’s not anything now. With a resigned sigh, I strip a large piece of bark from a nearby tree to use as an improvised shovel. Then I set about at least covering the body with a shallow layer of dirt, determined to provide him with a modicum of dignity in death.

Doing this little thing somehow eases a tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying.

As I shovel the loose underbrush onto the body, I suddenly know with absolute certainty that old Emma would have died here. If not for my experiences in this world, I’d have frozen in fear and been cut down, either before or after he had his way with me. I honestly find it hard to imagine I’d have carried a spear in the first place, much less that I'd have been able to use it on a fellow human. Even one coming at me with a sword.

So do I like being this Emma more or less than the Emma I was before? It’s undeniable that I very much prefer being alive, and by that measure new Emma is clearly superior. After all, old Emma would be dead. It’s also true I don’t want to feel guilty for killing someone that intended to do the same to me, but can I let go of morality just like that? That’s a bit… But then I guess that wouldn’t be wrong before either? Isn’t there something about proportionality in force? Maybe if I’d torn his soul out and shredded it with magic it’d be disproportionate? Not that I could actually pull that off, but it is amusing to think about. No, wait, it’s not amusing at all! Bad Emma, you’re slipping down that slippery slope like you’re on skis!

I shake my head, and keep digging. No easy answers are forthcoming, and the only way to find out is to proceed and see where my actions take me. A slight smile comes to my face, at the idea of some of my friends from my previous world seeing me like this, digging a grave for a man with a piece of bark. Most of them would be horrified, but I like to think that a few, just a few, might understand how I feel. I know without a shadow of doubt that my brothers would, and that thought brings both a measure of reassurance, and a profound sadness at the reminder of what I’ve lost.

Eventually, the grave such as it is is done. I keep thinking of it as a grave, but it’s really more like a mound. It's not much, but considering he tried to kill me before, I think he should be happy with even this much.

What do people say in these circumstances? I try to think of something, but suddenly my mouth is on autopilot:

"May your soul find peace in the embrace of the eternal light, and may your name be whispered in the winds of memory. Let the spirits of the ancestors grant you rest in the arms of the earth, and solace in the hearts of those who remain."

My eyes widen, and I slap my hand over my mouth. What in the actual fuck? Where did that come from? That’s definitely not any prayer I knew before, and much more certainly not something I could come up with on the spot. I can’t deny that it sounded a whole lot more profound, but I didn’t come up with it. Did I get that from Ronain? No, I definitely spoke those words in English. Did I secretly get some knowledge implanted without realizing? Then what else do I not know I know? And couldn’t it have been something like, the local fucking language?!

Oh well, I’ll take what I can get. There may actually be a next. If there's whole new worlds that you can be transported to, then who's to say there's no afterlife. There might even be gods. Maybe even I’ll become religious in this world.

I glance at the mound one more time, then head down the hill towards the remnants of a massacre.