Caravan was my initial impression, but it consists of just two massive wagons, their wheels clad in iron rims. Initially this looks perfectly normal to me, there’s a man on each wagon, but no horses attached to them, which is curious. A whole contigent of lumberjacks is loading the beds of the wagons with tree trunks from a storage space using a hoist and pulley system that quite impresses me.

That lasts right up until I see one of the massive wagons reposition itself without any apparent method of locomotion. The front axle turns out of nowhere, and the wagon lumbers forward, before doing the same thing in reverse. All the mechanics of the wagon are on full display. There’s none. I strain my eyes trying to find the engine, or something, anything, that will let the wagon move like that, but the only thing on the wagon other than the trunks is the man in front.

Ronain is clearly excited about the men on the wagons:

“Féach!? Duine channta! An bhfuil sé fionnuar?"

He's trying to keep it simple for me, but I still have no idea what he means. Is he talking about the men on the wagons, or about the wagons themselves? If it’s an enchanted wagon it’d be just as impressive as the two men somehow making the wagon move, so it doesn’t really help me.

I feel a little flutter in my stomach, and before I know it I've settled on the only explanation that makes sense. Regardless of anything else, either through the wagons, or the men, magic is making those wagons move. Either way, this is the first time I've seen any evidence of magic outside of the strange symbols in my cave.

The realization hits me like a stone from a sling - magic is real in this world. Actual, honest-to-gods magic. I stare at Ronain, and he looks back at me with this massive shit eating grin, that tells me my reaction was exactly as he expected.

My heart races and my mind whirls with possibilities. A tension I didn't realize was there releases, as I finally find something, anything, that would make my sudden transport here and all its challenges actually worthwhile. It’s like the realization of years of childhood dreams packed into a mere minute.

I watch as the wagons slowly lumber back and forth. The men on top of them, on closer inspection, actually have their eyes closed. The speed with which the wagons accellerate is extremely slow, but they don’t have to move very far. I can only imagine how much force is necessary to move that much weight.

Watching the wagons is hypnotic, like I’m trying to will the knowledge of how that’s happening into my mind. It’s only when Ronain tugs on my sleeve that I come back to reality.

“B'fheàrr leat iad a leantainn.” he points at the wagons.

Follow the wagons? Where are they going?

“Cà?” my vocabulary is barely large enough to ask him that question. Thankfully, the question came up a lot during our gathering. It’s still nice to be able to make yourself understood.

“Gu a' bhaile mòr. Bidh iad a' faighinn tlachd bhuat nas motha an sin. Beagan.” He doesn’t look entirely certain of himself.

Ultimately he shrugs as he gives me a wry look “Nimheach na seo, ionmholta."

Ok, I got part of that. “To the city”, and then something else which I have no idea of. I have to admit to wanting to follow the wagons regardless, mostly to figure out how those “channta" —or the magic— work.

I’m not sure about leaving. I’ve finally found a friend in Ronain. I don’t particularly want to give that up. I still have the symbols on the bark and the fruit juice to experiment with. The confirmation that magic exists gives me something to work towards, and I might as well do that here.

At the same time, Ronain is telling me to follow them. Even if he’s not entirely sure, I think he’s proven that he’s trustworthy. Even if he’s wrong it’s worth a shot. I unconsciously shrug. I can always come back.

“Tha mi duilich.” I apologize to him “I’ll try to follow them, but I’ll be back.” I’m sure his English is not up to understanding that last bit, but I have no idea how to say it in his language, and I want to have said it.

Ronain nods, and tells me to wait there, then rushes off into the village. I’m momentarily confused about him suddenly rushing off, then worried that he’ll reveal my position in his enthusiasm, but he actually moved away from me before leaving the woods, and nobody is the wiser.

I guess I should wait?

I spend some more time looking at the loading of the wagons. The process is slow, but the pulleys make it certain. Given the size of the stacks, I estimate they’ll be at it for another hour or so.

Aside from the two channelers, it appears there are 4 more people in the group. Two men that I identify as guards by the fact they’re carrying spears, and two laborers which I can only distinguish from the villages because they’re wearing clearly different clothes. I’d hesitate to call it official, but they do seem to be wearing similar colors to the two men with spears. I’d be hard pressed to call it a uniform, but there’s a clear theme there.

I have to wonder what the goal of these people is. They have a fairly massive load of trees with them there.

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

Eventually I get bored of speculating on what the trees are going to be used for, and as the excitement of seeing actual magic fades, my thoughts turn towards the much more pressing concern of how I’m going to survive when I follow them.

My thoughts note frightfully fast that more than half the village is out looking at the magic wagons, and that this would make for a prime opportunity to once again resupply myself by liberating some resources from the village.

Ronain told me to wait, but I’m not sure when he’ll be back, and there’s no telling what the crowd will do when the loading is over. Maybe they’d even depart immediately?

I tell myself that I’m not going to let myself wallow in indecision this time, and purposefully sneak around the outside of the village until I’m at the side furthest from the commotion. As far as I can determine, it’s completely deserted.

I keep my eyes peeled and my eyes sharp as I make my way over to the closest house, but nothing keeps me company but the faint breeze through the bushes and trees.

The house I arrive at is slightly larger than the last one I uh… I try to think of a word that doesn’t make me sound quite so much like a bandit. I frown, and give up. I plundered their house, just as I will this one.

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I find the door ajar, which initially worries me, but it does not appear anyone is inside. I wonder how careless the people in the village are when my latest theft was just a few days ago. But then, it appears that to them it hasn’t even been a thing. If they were worried about something it’d be the evil woman in the forest, not the fact one of their houses lost a little bit of food.

In any case, I step inside. The air smells of something earthen, which on reflection is not all that surprising considering most of the floor is packed earth. It’s subtly different from the last house though.

I scan the interior, looking for a similar door as the last house I was in. It stands to reason that they all have a storage space for provisions, and I might as well go directly to the source instead of rifle through the kitchen again.

The table and chairs recieve no more than a glance. The setup is mostly similar to the previous house, it has three instead of two doors leading out of the living space, and I’m momentarily frozen in indecision, but then pick what I consider the most likely door and open that one.

Bingo! The door does indeed lead to the storeroom. And what a storeroom it is. Where the last one seemed like it had seen better days, both in terms of quality and contents, this one seems reflective of the larger size of the house. Now, let me clarify that that doesn’t mean the thing looks amazing, it’s still rough wood and packed earth, but it feels like someone spent more effort on making it nice instead of simply functional.

I feel a mild pang of guilt when I realize I might have stolen my earlier supplies from people that could ill afford it, but quickly squash the feeling. Regardless of how poor they were, I needed it more.

I move down the line of chests, opening them as I go, then realize I have nothing to put anything in. Ronain basically rushed me out the door, and I left the empty sack and pot behind...

I go back to the living room, and a quick search gives me what I need. A shoulder bag that’s really a lot more convenient than the sack I lugged along before, reminiscent of Dorain’s pouch, but made out of cloth. And a honest to god waterskin. I’m honestly not sure if I’d have recognized that for what it was if it wasn’t already full of water. It looks nothing like the pictures I’ve seen.

Nonetheless, it quickly disappears into the bag, and I rush back to the storeroom, where I load my bag with as much as it can carry.

Surprisingly there’s potatos, I thought those came from America? The people here do not look like Native Americans, and therefore it feels weird to me, but when I think about it there’s no reason for this world to be similar to what I know. There’s a lot to be said for expecting the opposite.

After what seems like a moment, my bag is full, and even though I put everything in, and should know better, I’m surprised at how hefty it is. I was a lot more reluctant to take anything, much less this amount the last time. I pause for a moment and wonder if that’s because this house seems to have more supplies in general, or whether it’s just become so much easier the second time around.

Morality is a crazy thing. I do not feel even mildly reluctant. The slippery slope I was worried about appears to be a ravine… Though I guess I’m stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?

The houses relative aflluence compared to the previous one makes me curious. Why does a woodcutters place hold this appearance of abundance. Does the foreman live here or something?

I find myself lingering, fascinated by the mystery of the life lived by the owner of this house. A full shelf of pottery, a tiny shawl made from dyed fabrid. Potentially more expensive than anything else in the house. I have no idea how hard dyeing is, but I’ve seen little but natural colors worn by the villagers. One of the shelves holds a woodcarving that must surely have cost something.

I explore the rest of the house, find myself in front of what would be the bedroom that I was unable to enter last time, and try to pull myself away, to tell myself that I already have what I came for. But curiosity was always one of my best and worst traits.

I push the door open, and find myself in a room that actually has a wooden floor. A large wooden bed sits in the corner, a slew of nightclothes thrown carelessly on the covers. I smirk. They look a lot better than what I’m wearing, but I still have enough pride to not want to go running around in dirty pajamas.

Of course, I can only say that because I’m already wearing adequate clothing now.

On a table next to the bed I see a small pouch. When I pick it up it jingles with coins. That would certainly come in useful. I didn't steal them last time, but now…? This doesn’t look like someone’s life savings. I find myself unsure, but remind myself of my decision to not hold back. If I’m planning to slug innocent girls in the face to prevent my capture, what is taking a few coins? I can use them where I’m going.

The pouch disappears in my bag, and for the first time since I stepped into this house I’m starting to feel mildly bad.

I quickly turn my attention to the last main feature in the room, the large chest standing at the foot of the bed. I wonder what’s in there?

In the end, it’s not very exciting. Many more clothes than were thrown on the bed greet me. There’s pants, shirts, a few dresses, a bunch of tunics, a lot of underwear. I pick something up that looks sort of like a bra, and I hold it up to try to figure out how one would wear that, when I’m suddenly struck by what I’m doing, and I feel extremely foolish.

I didn’t even come here for clothes, and here I am admiring the contents of someone’s wardrobe. I quickly stash the bra-like thing, and one set of underwear in my bag —I’ll try to figure out how it works later— and then quickly put everything back as I found it.

I suddenly feel less like Robin Hood and more like an actual villain. What am I reduced to. Stealing underwear? I can’t deny that I need it, but… Before I can think too much more about it I’m rushing back out the bedroom, through the living, and back to the front door.

I’m suddenly aware of every footstep, of every breath I take in this quiet space. I’ve taken what I need to survive, but my survival does not give me a blank check to do as I want.

A tiny voice whispers that it really does. That my notions of morality belong to a different world. But I’m not ready to throw all that away yet, and squash it ruthlessly.

After a summary check, I exit the house with a swift, determined stride. Ronain’s open, trusting face suddenly flashes through my mind, and I feel a flash of shame. It’s his people I’m stealing from. I shake my head, and quickly move on. It’s also his people that tried to kill me multiple times.

As I make my way back to the place I came from, I find myself wondering if the fact I’m not so bothered is a good thing. I’m suddenly wondering if my unease comes from that fact, instead of from the act itself. I always considered myself a righteous individual, but was I really?

There’s an undeniable attraction to the path that I’ve taken a few steps on, and I find myself wondering if I want to move forward along that path or back away.

When I’m nearly back at the place I expect Ronain to come back to, I spot him running in the distance, converging on the same spot. I suddenly wonder what will happen if he sees me with my recent acquisitions, and realize I do not want to find out. I quickly tuck it in the bushes, before making my way to Ronain.

When he spots me, his face lights up with an innocent earnestness that twists the knife of guilt a little bit deeper. I can feel my cheeks warming with shame.

Ronain notices nothing of course, barely containing his excitement, and I can’t help but smile.

When he reaches me, he thrusts out a small, roughly tied package into my hands. “Tha sin airson ithe! Mar sin faodaidh tu ruighinn don mhòr-shluaigh!”. His eyes are shining with an odd mix of pride and sadness. I avert my gaze, not trusting myself to speak right now. Somehow there’s a brick in my throat I can’t seem to swallow away.

"Thank you, Ronain," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. I can't bring myself to meet his gaze, fearful that he'd somehow see the truth in my eyes.

He wishes me good luck, or so I think, then pushes me in the direction of the wagons, whose preparations have long since finished, and are currently moving out.

Once he’s convinced that I’ve noticed the wagons slowly moving away and am going to follow them he stops pushing and looks at me with his unguarded eyes then says “Gur math a thèid leat."

I nod, and he turns away to walk back to the village. As I watch his retreating back, a profound sadness settles over me. Ronain represents a purity I fear I’ve lost touch with in my few weeks here. His trust in me, a complete stranger, shames me. Here he is, giving me what little he can scrounge together, while just moments ago I was pilfering through his neighbors’ home.

I sigh, at least I still feel regret I suppose. I hope that means I'm not too far gone.

As I finally turn away, and grab the much larger bag stuffed full of supplies, I make a silent vow to honor Ronain's trust. I'll strive to be better, to make choices that reflect the kind of person I imagine he’d want me to be, choices that would make my sole little ally proud.

I move slowly after the caravan, making sure I’m far enough away that there’s no chance of them seeing me, and I wonder where this magic parade will lead me.