Lucrece woke up PARCHED.

A headache was imminent. The leg that got bitten at night was healed up. The sun was destroying Lucrece’s brain through a single mosaic flowered window. She was lying on the floor of questionable tidiness and refused to acknowledge the discomfort of it.

The note next to her said, “Sorry to have used one of your potions, but you’ve passed out before we could discuss the importance of your stash versus your life, so I made the decision. P.S. Do not twirl the stone on the key, it is shaky, push on it just slightly to activate the enchantment. - B.”

As soon as she read it, it burst in flames, as usual, and disappeared, singeing the tips of her fingers. Lucrece sighed. She needed a drink.

The list of the things to do was vast and frankly suffocating, but she long ago trained herself to go through the basics first.

She stood and stretched a bit. It was going to be a fun day, now that she was inside and knew how to open the door properly!

The only door of the house was closed, and Lucrece had a sudden fear that she would be locked in now - but no. It yielded, as if nothing bad had happened, and it hadn’t been a total scam the previous day.

She let the sun in, and looked around. Her things were still scattered around the porch and the yard. The cornfield looked fine, if a little bit ruffled, but that could just be her imagination.

Lucrece turned, inspecting the insides of the hut.

To the left of her was a ceramic washing basin, full of huge dead flies, strung on webs heavy with dust. With no spider in sight, Lucrece supposed it was part of the heritage of the previous tenants. The washstand under it resembled a joint stool with a shelf in it. She checked the shelf - no pitcher was hiding there. Pity.

Then there was, what Lucrece presumed, a kitchen. Two counters with a pile of assorted dishes: a tall glass in a bowl in a slightly larger bowl sat on the stack of three identical large plates which were covering a pan under it all. Lucrece did not allow herself to hope it was a clean pile.

Then there was an immediate curtain. She came up and dared to touch it, half-expecting a bat crash into her or something - but no, it was plainly dusty. And somehow smelly, of overcooked onions and old smoke. Behind the curtain of undecipherable color there stood a bed. It was also leaving much to be desired. Lucrece poked it, gripping at the hilt of her shortsword. Nothing stirred. Thank Goddess.

The bed took the full length of the northern part of the hut. Right on the eastern side there was a murkily lit table. On the table, all wrapped in cobwebs lay her originally black cat Ricotti. All of them, fairy included, needed a bath.

Lucrece sighed and decided to clean up a bit. First she spent about fifteen minutes coming up with some ideas about what to clean with. A see-through presumably washcloth of a color that emitted death wails? A broom that was no thicker than two sticks and both of them had leftovers of a number of… what could be cocoons if they weren’t this big? Maybe a burdock leaf?

It would be the time to lower her standards a bit, but she considered her standards to be low enough as they were.

“Alright, that’s it!” She finally exclaimed. “Rico, I’m going to put you in the basket and we are going to the village.”

“Don’t wanna…” the cat muttered under whiskers.

Lucrece reassembled her bags and took out the folded wicker basket. It was her shopping basket, as well as cat basket and gathering-ingredients basket. While journeying she was trying to minimize her bags as optimally as possible.

This was when she realized that the hut had no mirrors, which was incredibly blasphemous for such a country - weren’t Adenfians the most religious people across both Erthions? Weren’t they having the most Goddess attention? Her Mercy showed up in person at least once a year here! No way she allowed them to make their houses with zero mirrors.

Frustrated, she was bound to resort to her hand altar. A palm-sized locket had a mirror on one side, with candle stands, which unfolded outwards shutter-like. On the other side there was the tiniest basin for two spoonfuls of water, which she filled from her waterskins, shaking and squeezing them out.

The witch sat in the dimly lit room on the floor and carefully put the tiny altar in front of her. She had not yet bought the right-sized candles for it, making do with a small pocket torch which she was restocking whenever possible. It was as long as her palm.

The words of the prayer came on their own, which was a good sign. Lucrece still did not feel any flow of mana through herself, but her senses seemed to be picking up the surrounding field.

She mentioned her companions, she mentioned the beasts, and the scornful feeling she was addled with about her landlord. And then tried to focus on better things: the sun, the cornfield, the freshness of the air… the freedom. The let-aloneness.

It did not help generate mana, not with that amount of fire to water capacity, but it helped cleanse the daily grease of spiritual gunk. She kind of skipped the procedure yesterday and she still did not have any water to even fill herself out from a raisin into a grape state.

Still, she used that cheap mirror to make sure she looked half-decent, so she wouldn’t scare the villagers. She fixed her auburn hair, trying and failing to make out crusted blood pieces that were certainly there. Brushed it out carefully so one might assume she had a good morning.

She had so many questions to ask the host of this hut, she had to begin writing them down lest she forgot. But first, water.

Lucrece took out her compressed wardrobe, which had twenty more charges to go before she had to find either a proper non-magical wardrobe or anyone who could re-enchant it. She did not know the spells behind it at all.

After changing her soiled skirt and donning on a fresh chemise, she put on her knee-long waistcoat and picked up her hat.

Maybe the fairy could give her a few hints and be of any fabled help today?

“Poppy,” she called, “We’re going to the village.”

The door on the hat cropped out, becoming real instead of embroidered, and a very munched fairy stood in the doorway. “Just take the hat. ‘N bring me snacks.”

Lucrece gauged Poppy’s appearance. No help to be expected from this one today.

“We’re going for water. No snacks.”

“Need snacks.”

“You and I need water first. Ok?”

“But snacks give me life!”

Lucrece did not understand the essence of the argument and her own motivation to continue to argue, just that Poppy’s statements were wrong and Lucrece must insist on her staying properly functional.

“Water gives you life. Go to sleep now. Sorry to disturb you.”

Fairy disappeared in her magical house without saying anything more.

Lucrece carefully checked herself: the key in her hand, the cat in the basket, the hat on her head, the money pouch on the belt, seemed good to go.

The moment she stepped out of the hut, the sun attacked her eyes and there was someone standing right over one of the bushes.

Standing, no, hovering. Looking at her.

She knew she forgot the sword then.

Her hand was already unplucking the tangle-up potion from its nest on her belt, when her eyes finally registered the creature properly and barely managed to inform the brain to stop the throwing of the potion at the onlooker.

It was not any of the local beasts.

It was not any of the spectres as she feared.

It was just a kid. Just a curious farm kid. But why was she hovering?

Lucrece commanded her face as-you-were, and tried to put on a friendly expression. The girl then said something.

The only thing Lucrece understood of that - it was definitely a question.

She pointed at the hut, “Live here,” she said very slowly in Western Elven, in hopes it would be understood. The girl looked the age when they might be already studying that at school.

To her relief the girl happily nodded, the light of connection striking across her face.

“Name?” She asked then.

The witch pointed towards herself, “Lucrece. You?”

The girl then pronounced something sounding like “lio” and barely distinguishable jumble of n’s and m’s. Lionmnm. Lucrece nodded, faking understanding.

“Water?” She asked, because that was the one thing on her mind now and the girl probably knew where the water was.

But Lio did not get that, frowning. Hmm, maybe she was a first-year who only knew the get-to-know phrases. Lucrece took her waterskin and showed that it was empty. Then she motioned that she was thirsty, sticking out her tongue for good measure. The girl still frowned, but seemed to make a decision. She suddenly turned on her hover-thing and flew into the field.

There stood a man with a hair bun on his head of practically the same color as the corn cob hairs. He was in long brown robes and has just finished some spell when Lucrece caught the sight of him.

Lucrece watched her go and wondered if she was meant to stay where she was or follow her, or maybe that was the end of their interaction and she was free to start for the village.

The witch watched the girl being scolded by her father, probably, and then the girl waved to her. Free to go, then.

She grabbed her bag with two empty waterskins, a basket with the purring cat, locked the door and with an air of a woman who knew what she was up to went towards the village.

The farmer shouted something at her. She smiled at him, apologetically swinging her eyebrows up. Sorry, sir, we’d have to postpone the neighbors’ beef start until we learn some middle language. Got no idea what you are saying at the moment.

The plan was to find a well in the village, fill the skins with water and maybe ask around where the markets were held normally. The hut needed some more of the basic household implements.

As her journey experiences went, she got pretty used to saving up the set-up money. She was good for now. But it never ceased to be a very nervous and bumpy time for her. And never in her life she had to start as far low as setting up the water supply, dear Gods.

The sun was beginning to hide under the clouds. They were so formidable, so shapely. Lucrece wondered if that meant rain.

The village started with a row of trees slowly merging into fences of the backyards of the farmer’s residences. She went past them, curiously checking the dry moats, and trying to look where the sounds were coming from - cows were mooing, pigs were oinking, and somewhere right behind the fence she could hear the clucks of the hens.

Soon she found herself on the outer street of the village, and she took a proper glance around. She had not stopped here to walk around, having signed the document of lease in the town. The map, drawn on a piece of leather, told her that there was a tavern, a chapel, a baker’s place and a butcher’s place. Somewhere on the opposite from the farming side of the village were the blacksmiths and the general traders shops. Lucrece was looking for the redundant five minutes at her map and could not find any indication where the water well could be.

Normally, it would be the centre of the village, right?

So she went to whatever said “Square” on the map.

The villagers were out and about at this hour.

Time slowed when Lucrece was taking in the bizarre scene before her.

Two mothers, one of them obviously and uncomfortably pregnant, were standing chatting. The non-pregnant one turned on something on one of her rings, not stopping listening to her friend. The air shivered and as Lucrece passed them by she understood what that was - their older kids, mere toddlers, were shouting in excitement at something nearby, and this shivering air made a noise-filtering wall for the ladies.

Lucrece’s mouth formed an O and wouldn’t close, her brows furrowed. What in the sweet Mercies was that?

Their kids were playing in the what she thought? It was a bush. Was it, though? It was moving. Creepily so, it made its way onto the middle of the road, its twiggly-wiggly legs making motions not unlike a centipede. It was rapidly losing leaves, as three toddlers rode it.

Lucrece checked the moms though - what if she was hallucinating from dehydration? She was about to ask them if they saw what she saw, but then the pregnant woman shouted something and twisted some bracelet on her wrist, and the bush corrected its way, swerving to the side of the road. Which was a good thing to do for Lucrece as well.

Because the next moment a young man broke right near them with a huge platform in tow - him and his cargo afloat, barely missing the children’s heads.

The women immediately started a ruckus and the boy, a cool fish that he was, simply leered at them, parking his lot on the ground and then - oh, sweet Twin Gods, Lucrece heard a familiar word in all this banter!

It was, of course, “mom”.

So the youngster was one of these women’s son then.

In a foul mood, one of them turned to Lucrece and demanded something - Adenfian, Lucrece supposed. She had to announce it, in her far from perfect Western Elven, “Water?”

The women nodded in understanding. They had the air about them that the conversation was essentially done. And they actually turned away from Lucrece.

Befuddled, Lucrece decided to continue with her quest. The map said it was just two more houses down the road - the square with a theoretical well of water.

The houses were something else, too. Lucrece began to notice that they were not like her hut. There were no beams of wood visible. Instead, they gave a feeling of being… grown. She looked a bit closer at the last of the houses - what was visible of it through the shrub fence, - and saw a pattern of faded and treated round branch collars on the side of the house.

She stepped out to the square, which was closer to a village green.

Someone’s hefty snore freaked her out then, her sleeping cat jumped a full meter up and away from the basket, hissing and right out racing away.

“Rico!” Lucrece shouted after him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Oh, crap. She turned, boiling, towards the snorer, - it was a plump older man who was selling some knick-knacks. Apart from him and some other cart a hundred meters away on the opposite side, there was nothing that caught the eye on the square.

“Sorry, sir,” she addressed the man in her native language, and caught herself, continuing in W.E. then, “Where is water?”

The man blinked at her drowsily, so she repeated. It was alright. She was thirsty and about to beg, so it was alright. She could repeat it a hundred times if that meant better chances of water.

But he didn’t understand her, frowning. The apologetic smile he smiled was painfully familiar and, apparently, the only international gesture they could share. Gestures! Right!

Lucrece showed him her empty waterskins. “Water,” she said in W.E. “Water?” She enacted drinking out of it, saying the word in Axxian, that other language she’d picked up the basics of on her journeys.

“Ah!” Finally, the connection happened! And he motioned for her to give him the map. With a pencil that he took out of his long hair (ew, by the way) he marked a point on the outskirts of the village. There was nothing there.

Lucrece supposed the well was there. She bowed to him in gratitude, earning a weirded-out stare from him, and took off in the direction of the Gods forsaken well.

“Rico, Rico, Rico!” She called on her run, “Come back, boy!”

But the cat was nowhere to be seen.

Lucrece shrugged, he’d get back. He’s a cat after all.

The sun did not let up, making her head sweat under the hat, but at the same time - no way she was taking the hat off. Then she would be just blind. For a desert dweller, she sure lost her knack to endure the light. But then, maybe she had never had it. Her previous life was not a happy one. One of the villains was the unrelenting sun.

Oh how she anticipated winters in Adenf! Heard so many stories about them. About the softness of the snow and streets full of ice and one would just ice-skate around. About all the varieties of hot drinks they serve here! About the furs one could buy to snuggle themselves up…

In time she found herself at the edge of the village. She might have passed some households or shops, she was pretty single-minded now. It seemed like her time was running out.

The head felt heavy. She did not notice the well. But what stood where the mark on her map pointed to was a … tavern.

Yep. A tavern. Maybe inside of it was a well? Some countries even had a merge between a chapel and a tavern, called a pub.

Lucrece swiftly approached the building, noticing it was made of actual timberwood planks. It looked sturdy, but old, of course. On one side there were patches of in-grown tree matter - it was leafy, too. Fancy what those magicians of Adenf took for granted.

It had a porch, too. With a nice couple of tables with no cloth on them but -

“AAAHHH!” Lucrece emitted the worst wail in her life when her gaze was returned by a ginormous rat, sitting on one of the chairs. The rat did not react much. No big deal, people scream at it all the time, right?

One could mistake it for an overfed cat, but its whiskery nose was too shuffly with sniffing the air, and Lucrece stood there, physically, with her hand trying to stop her heart from jumping through her ribcage.

There came out a grumbly long-haired woman, squinting at the all-enveloping sun, and at first she addressed the rat. Then turned to Lucrece and the innkeeper’s eyes widened for a brief moment, and she immediately switched to a heavily accented Western Elven.

“‘Lo, come in then,” she opened the door, and first rushed in the rat, and the innkeeper benevolently smiled at it, saying to Lucrece, “A pet. Name’s Nutty.”

“Why is it so big?” Lucrece couldn’t help but ask that.

“Huh? Big?” The innkeeper was limping a bit, going through the dining area, which was not clean at all - and Nutty began to enjoy the leftovers from the night. “Mind the sign!”

Lucrece stepped out on the porch a bit to read the sign. It was just a huge Adenfian rune. “What does it say?”

“It says, leave your weapons outside in the rack or sign a consent with your signet!” The innkeeper shouted. Lucrece did not have a signet. Nor did she have a sword on her.

“What if I don’t do either?”

“It’s nothing, just if exposed too long and too often to the Blunting spell, most swords begin to rust a bit.”

She nodded, still looking out for Rico in the street. This was a rather wild edge of the village - a town road started here. What if he got caught by this kind of rat? Now she began to worry. She slowly came inside of the tavern then.

Someone groaned in the darker corner.

“Who’s there?”

“Customers with the sleepover package,” the innkeeper smirked, “Regular breakfast, lady?”

Lucrece all but melted at that. She did not care for the price at this point. But adultier part of her took over and she said, “Have you got a well?”

The innkeeper looked perplexed at that.

“Sure, whatever goes your way. Let me fill you up then.”

And Lucrece handed over her waterskins, glad she found the source of water. She sat at the bar, watching the innkeeper putter around.

A couple of clay jugs were emptied into Lucrece’s waterskins, and she thought, why, do you keep your water in such small containers?

The oven got lit in seconds with the fire spell, activated by a strike off a finger-shaped stone off a special grainy matching stone on the side of the oven. The oven itself was really wide and provided for several parallel cooking processes at once, and when it started, two things appeared right away in it: a round-bellied pot with a nozzle and a large pan with a relief on it. The relief worked like a divider for the half a dozen eggs the innkeeper cracked onto it, and there was a side lane for bacon strips.

Lucrece’s general idea of a breakfast leaned towards porridges of all sorts, she was not the type to consume heavily in the morning, but while traveling you ate what you were given. She only dreamt of oatmeals these days. Didn't spot any oats growing around here so far.

The innkeeper meanwhile brought in some more jars [better word] and judging by the smell of it, it was pickles.

She put a plate in front of Lucrece and began filling it - and the plate also had sections. Lucrece made a mental note to get one of these plates for herself. It was super neat.

To the right went the recognizable cherry tomatoes, then some kind of green sauce, then some kind of red sauce. The left pools of the plate were filled with little disks, red on the outside, pink inside, then something straw-resemblant but oily, and finally, one more thing Lucrece was happy to know - cheese. It was crumbly, smelled godawful but at least it had a decency to introduce itself like that.

Onto her plate of the regular Adenfian breakfast were laid three fat stripes of bacon, two eggs over-easy and then a huge dollop of red mash.

“What is that?” Lucrece poked at the mash.

“Winter beans with tomatoes.”

Lucrece nodded and waited for the innkeeper to fill her mug with something.

“A well, as per request, m’lady,” said the innkeeper and went to the inner kitchens to continue with her job.

Behind Lucrece, the tavern door opened and some man shouted, calling for the innkeeper - and that’s how Lucrece knew her name, Mayala. The innkeeper answered something affirmative and worked even faster.

Lucrece guessed the breakfast was turning into lunch and first workers were to come over for their break.

She grabbed the mug finally, and made a huge gulp, thirsting for the taste of water.

It.

Was.

Not.

Water.

The sour apple fizziness all but inverted Lucrece’s mouth, and she nearly passed out from this experience, coughing, spitting it out, eyes filling with tears.

She had travelled for half a decade now and did not learn to stop faking understanding people when, in fact, she did not, and that was the lesson!

What was “well” in Adenfian, anyway?

That was the first thought she had when she felt someone touching her shoulders supportively, her body heavy, her mind wuzzy, and nausea making it hard to stop gulping the eye-wrenching sourness.

Published 16 Oct 2025