The entirety of my stock for sale has sold now and my table's been put away. Of the locals, I likely earned the most due to the higher value of my goods. As it turns out, most of what gets sold here either isn't made with pure magic ingredients or isn't made with any. That lowers the values a lot, and the quantities they produce aren't nearly as high in some cases.

  It's especially nowhere near as high as how much I'm growing in my garden, that's for sure. I had a larger stock of items to sell, but also more valuable things. Next time, I should probably lower things a little bit so that it doesn't make people feel like I'm trying to be better than the locals. That's not my intention at all.

  Dylan's watching as Nolan plays with some of the kids who showed up at the moment, and it's clear he feels awkward. He keeps shifting around and looking toward some of the other parents, who are talking with each other.

  In addition to each other, the kids are playing with a Mistwood herder, a local breed of dog that I've seen a few times. Most of them are tame, but some of them just roam the fields as free spirits. Their shoulders reach a little past my knees, and their fur is mottled with golden browns and browns over a white undercoat, with white for their bellies and the undersides of their tails.

  "Hey, Dylan," I say upon reaching him.

  "Sold everything?" He asks.

  "Everything that was for sale," I hold out a pouch.

  "What's this?"

  "Your earnings," I say, and he starts to say something, surprise, confusion, and rejection in his mind. "You worked at the stall, Dylan, you get paid. And you did help me make the jams. This is the fair pay based on how much you helped. Most stalls still have goods, so if you want to buy something, I'd recommend going and checking them out now. I'm going to do the same."

  Something is causing conflict in his mind and when he looks at Nolan, I realize what it is.

  "That's not a wild Mistwood herder the kids are playing with," I tell him. "It's Aluci transformed into one, since most of the parents here wouldn't quite be happy with their kids playing with a shadow wolf."

  "That's Aluci?" Shock fills Dylan's mind, and the herder looks over and dips his head slightly for a moment before returning to chasing kids. "I knew he shapeshifts, but I didn't realize he'd do that."

  "I told you," I say. "He loves playing with kids. If you don't want to disrupt Nolan's play, you can know he's safe knowing Aluci's watching the kids."

  He's still nervous, but he nods in acceptance. The old spirit's really earned his trust. We head back to the market section and split up. There are a few things I want to buy while this is set up in addition to dropping off my gifts for the locals. The first stop I make is at an outsider stall, where Patrick is currently attempting to haggle with one of the merchants.

  This merchant is selling sacks of sugar and brown sugar, ceramic jars of black peppercorns, jars of vinegar, and jars of oil. It's the vinegar that I want to buy, even if I can make my own.

  "No, I don't want to buy vinegar," Patrick says. "I want to buy sugar. Stop trying to sell me other stuff."

  "Your family makes pickles, no?" The merchant responds. "I have only the highest quality vinegar available."

  "Dude," Patrick says. "We make our own vinegar. We want sugar. We ain't got a way to get it on our own, which is why I want to buy it. We do use it. Stop with the upselling and just tell me how much the sugar is."

  "Patrick," I say. "I've got about three hundred pounds of sugar I can trade your family from for some jars of pickles – and if your parents are willing, some vinegar."

  "Oh, well, in that case," he looks at the merchant. "Never mind. The guy who knows how to make awesome foods has what we need from you. Where did you even get the sugar, Rowan? Did you steal it from someone?"

  "I know how to extract it," I tell him. "You know those really sweet beets Henry and Edith grow? Those are actually sugar beets, and you can extract the sugar from them if you know how. I traded with them and got some, and where I live, combined with a little bit of extra magic… I ended up with quite a lot of the beets."

  "Ah," he says. "Hey, do you happen to have bigger jars? Like, pickle-sized ones? Da told me to buy some crates of those, too. We like glass ones for pickles instead of ceramic since they can show others what's in 'em, but they're a lot more expensive. Your jars are really cool, and look higher-quality. We need more, to start the next batches. And I've got the money, we've sold a lot."

  The markets like this one must be how the locals restock on stuff they can't supply on their own. Silvia probably helped out with the jars a little, but she's passed now and can't. What they use the sugar for, I'm not entirely sure. Based on what I've observed and heard, they don't usually sweeten things.

  Maybe he likes adding it to his oatmeal for breakfast? They do have honey, though, so probably not. It's also not my business, so I won't pry.

  "Not at the moment," I tell him. "But I do know how to make them, and can do it with magic. Mine are higher quality, too. They have a special sealing mechanism which allows them to last for longer until the first time they're opened, and still for a little bit longer after opening. You'll have to talk with your parents about buying them from me. Or trading. I don't quite need that much in way of vinegar or pickles, though, so maybe something can be worked out with someone else."

  "Sure," he nods. "Lemme go ask them."

  He hurries off to his parents' station, and I dip my head to the merchant and move on. That was the only outsider stall I wanted to buy things from, so I approach the table for bee products. It's run by an elderly couple here, both of them pushing seventy. Right now, the wife, Laney, is the one behind the table while Gerald is off looking at other stalls.

  "Hello, Laney," I greet the elderly woman behind the table.

  "Hello, Rowan," she greets me. "What is it you want?"

  I've only interacted with her and her husband slightly so far, once at the Arrival festival and once to trade for some crops. She and her husband are still suspicious of me and view me as an outsider.

  "I'm gifting all of the locals some of my jam and preserves," I pull a small wooden box which has all four of the ones I produced out of my storage. "Including a special one I didn't sell at my stall, which is a double-berry mixture. Unlike the ones at my table, these jars have a special enchantment on them which keeps the items within cool. This keeps them safe for longer after they've been opened, allowing you to use them for up to three months or so once they've been opened, so long as you make sure to keep the lids on when not in use."

  "Oh," there's surprise in her mind. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome," I say. "I'm going to assume the honey from the payment for the wood for the docks came from you?"

  "It did," she confirms as she puts the box of jars behind her. "Gerald and I go there to watch the sun rise or set sometimes, and we'd prefer the boards to not break beneath our feet. Those old docks have needed replaced for awhile now and if it's from sturdier wood, then all's the better."

  "It was pretty good honey," I tell her. "Thank you much. I was wondering about purchasing or trading for more. I use it in a few things, like bread, cookies, butter, and as part of a topping for some things."

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  "How much were you looking for?" Her mind has relaxed around me now, just a little.

  "Another gallon," I answer. "If you still have that left."

  There are several jars left out on the table, but they're all ceramic jars so I can't see inside of them. I could look at them through the System to learn their contents, since it'll say what they're jars of, but asking is better. It's a way of further showing I'm willing to talk with them, as I'm sure everyone knows by now that I can read and am able to use the System to learn what items are.

  "I have a few jars left," she says. "Three different types of honey, though none in a gallon quantity total."

  The jars themselves can only hold around a pint of honey each. Based on the feel of her mind, she was lying about how much is left and how many types there are. Chances are, she has a higher-quality honey she's willing to trade with locals, but I won't push for that.

  "That's fine," I say. "What types do you have?"

  "These two are from flowers," she indicates two rows. "And this one comes from berries."

  To differentiate them, the cloth covering used for the jars are different based on the types. Even without the ability to read and write, there are ways to label items.

  "Three of the berry honey," I say. "And five of the flower honeys, whichever type. What will that cost?"

  "The flower ones are 15 ciirvrios a jar," she answers. "And the berry one is 17. We're willing to take coin or equivalent in goods. How much are those sausages of yours worth?"

  The prices on these are a little higher than some of the stuff sold by others here, but that's by nature of what they're selling. Bee products such as honey and beeswax sell for a high price nearly everywhere, but are lower in quantity.

  "I'll pay the full in coin and throw in a box of the sausages for you," I tell her. "I have a bit extra and would prefer they go to locals."

  "That sounds like a deal," she says.

  We exchange coins and goods, then I move on, making sure to gift each of the local families a box of the jams. Most of the tourists have already left and…

  "Hey, Thomas?" I ask upon reaching his family's table, where they're selling butter and cheese from his family's goats and cows. "Did Michael and his wife and Sophie already head home?"

  Sophie is the other younger member of the village, the young girl. Michael is her father, a gruff man who was pretty hostile to me when I approached him about trading for some crops. That resulted in no trade between us, but I hadn't gone in expecting everyone to be open to trading with me yet.

  "No," he answers. "Michael and Regina moved. We might get some business during the harvest festivals, but it's not much. Enough to replace tools, prepare for winter, and maybe buy some extras. The village is dying, and they want Sophie to grow up somewhere she can have friends her own age. As soon as they finished selling the crops they had, they took the things they're moving with and joined one of the wagons as it left."

  "That's a shame," I say. "But I guess that's how things are. Anyway, I have a gift for your family; am doing this for all of the local families."

  I give him the box of jams and preserves, and he examines it for a few moments before nodding. Something tells me he just checked the jars in the System. Based on his progress in learning how to read, he can probably understand enough of the messages to know what they are.

  "We're a bit low on the stuff for sale now," he says. "But we do have some left. Did you want to buy anything? I ain't sure how much you've got left, since I ain't been there in a few days."

  "A couple of pounds of butter," I tell him. "And a pound and a half of the mozzarella. Also a pound of the goat butter."

  "Do you have peanut butter?" He asks. "I normally buy that in town if I see it in the market and have some extra, but I know you've got peanut plants in your garden."

  "Yeah," I pull out a 15oz glass jar of peanut butter. "They're in this size."

  "Does one of those and a pound of breakfast sausage sound like a fair trade to you?" He asks.

  "It does to me," I pull out a log of breakfast sausage, and we perform the trade.

  "By the way," he says. "Patrick was asking me if I'd be willing to take him to lessons with me. I ain't sure if his parents will allow it, but if they do, are you fine with that?"

  Once my cabin was built, we shifted the lessons to be fully before lunch, as it made things easier on Thomas. He doesn't have to either leave and then come back or just wait around in the area somewhere until Nolan's nap is done. They now start immediately after breakfast and have a small break between so that Nolan can have a little fun before needing to sit still again.

  Them taking place right after breakfast is important to his question, because it means that unless I make a warpstone that takes someone directly to my lot's waystone, they'll need to leave before breakfast for the first lesson for Patrick.

  "Sure," I answer. "As I told you before, I think everyone should know the basics of magic and reading."

  "Alright," he says. "I'll talk with his parents and see what they say, and I'll see you again in a couple of days."

  "See you then," I say, then continue my trip through the festival market.

  There are more stalls for locals which have already closed up and left, or which are closing up now. Fortunately, Cedric's parents still have their stall set up from selling bolts of cloth made from wool. The nine-year-old is currently helping his mother as they're packing things up, so I've made it in time to catch them now.

  Needing to track them down later wouldn't be an issue, this is just more convenient.

  "Hello," I greet them, and they both look at me, a little wariness entering their minds, as well as some curiosity. "I've got a gift for all of the local families, some of my jams and preserves."

  I explain to them about the jars as I hand them the case, then look at Cedric, who's wearing a necklace made with various pieces of insect shells used as beads. It's actually pretty well-crafted, and explains his love of looking for insects in the forest. He must be looking for ones whose shells will shape into beads pretty well. They're all consistent in shape, size, and thickness, and the edges are rounded off so that they don't cut into his skin.

  "That's a nice necklace," I say, and he beams a little. "You weren't wearing that when I traded with your parents, were you?"

  "Nope!" He answers. "I finished it yesterday!"

  "Using shells from insects you found in the woods, right?"

  "Well…" he fidgets, nervousness in his mind.

  "I've spotted you a few times," I tell him. "When I'm out hunting things. You know there are goblins in the forest, right?"

  "Ain't ever been hurt by one!" He grins.

  "Have you ever been attacked by one?"

  "They ain't fast enough to catch me!" He puffs up his chest.

  "Cedric!" His mother exclaims, horror in her mind.

  "What?" He asks. "Thomas taught me how to fight, too! But I really am faster than them!"

  "There are goblins even stronger than the basic ones you've probably seen," I tell him. "And ones who can use a bow or even magic, if you go too far or if they wander out a bit more."

  "Ain't ever seen ones like that before," he says.

  "You've been lucky," I say. "You said Thomas has taught you how to fight?"

  "A little," he nods. "With my fists. And he's let me try his bow a few times, but it's too big for me."

  From my understanding, Thomas's version of "fighting with fists" isn't from proper training, it's just "punch". I've thought about offering to teach him martial arts. While I'm no expert with them, I do have plenty of training from my time as an adventurer and before. I can make sure he gets down the basics and a little past that, at the very least.

  "If you'd like," I tell Samantha. "I can teach him proper combat with his fists, to help him out a little. If he trains enough with them, he'll even gain Levels in the Skill related to it, which will boost his Constitution and HP, allowing him to resist damage more easily and survive more. And it'll help him survive if he does get attacked by a goblin he can't outrun. Not saying he should keep doing it, but you know he keeps slipping away. I was planning on offering Thomas some proper training with this already. I'm not sure if you know, but he's been learning magic from me."

  "He's mentioned it, yes," she says, and I can feel the hesitation in her mind. "I'll need to speak with him and my husband about this."

  "That's fine," I say. "Consider the offer open – so if you decline it now but later change your mind, just let me know and I'll see what my schedule's like."

  "Alright," she says. "We'll let you know," her mood shifts a little. "How were the cloths?"

  Rather than trading for crops from them, I traded a portable stove and some breakfast sausages to them for some cloth. Those were then used to make a few more pairs of pants for me.

  "Quite nice," I tell her. "It's a good weave; comfortable yet sturdy. They made some good pants. Anyway, I'll let you get back to packing up, I've got one more family to drop the jam off at. Have a good rest of your day."

  "You as well," she says.

  "Bye!" Cedric waves.

  I wave back, then head over to the table Patrick's family set up, though there aren't any jars of pickles left.

  "Those are the jams I was telling you 'bout," Patrick says when I had his father the box of them. "They're suuuuuper good! Hey, you should ask him about the jars."

  "Not right now," George tells him. "I still haven't decided yet," he looks at me again. "Thank you for the jam, Rowan."

  "You're welcome," I say. "Shame I missed the pickles, could you let me know next time you've got some ready?"

  "Will do," he says. "Have a good rest of your day."

  "You as well," I say, then look at Patrick. "And you."

  "Will do!" He says. "Bye, Rowan!"

  "Bye," I say, then walk off.

  I enjoyed this festival quite a lot, and getting to talk with Willow and Basil for a little bit was nice. Now, it's time to see if Dylan and Nolan are ready to head back to the cabin. After that, it'll be back to taking care of the gardens, hunting, crafting, and exploring.

  Making the decision to retire from my old life was definitely the right choice. Things are a lot calmer for me now, but that's just how I want it.