Allow me to introduce myself. Or, I should say, ourselves. I'm Gala, and the contributing author is Kanoa. We did something a little different with this story-this fic was written in a Dungeons and Dragons style format, back and forth between two authors. With Kanoa as DM, he sets up the quest and my character responds. He later takes on responsibility for Aston's character as well. Therefore, every other paragraph you see here was written by a different author. I have merged them together and changed the tense and perspective to form a strictly first-person narrative. (While I have tried to edit very carefully, if there's anywhere that I've missed and it says "you" or "your" when it should say "I", please let me know!)

The entire story thus far was written by being texted back and forth on a Gchat interface and an iPhone keypad, respectively. We've had a lot of fun writing our little literary "spar", and it has helped me while away many a soul-crushing hour at my former retail job in RadioShack. While we have enough material right now to keep us in updates for quite a few weeks, the story has not yet concluded and is still being written. We'll let you know when the updates catch up with the new material. Until then, please enjoy our story! – Gala & Kanoa


I stare wide eyed for a minute at the chaos and bustling activity of the market. I was perhaps hoping that I would immediately encounter the sight, smell or sound that would jog my memory, and felt foolish. Suddenly aware of Aston standing behind me and grinning, I decide that I should at least prepare for a journey, no matter that I don't know the destination. It suddenly occurs to me that what I want more than anything at that moment is just a strip of leather to tie back my long hair. Maybe I could find a better place to sheath my dagger as well. "Where can I find some leather?"

Aston points towards the center of the market. Near the center fountain there is a table with various skins and garments. To its right, a huskier woman is stretching a piece of leather over a stretching drum. Several leathers lay on the fountain rim behind her and over cables.

I approach the table, eyeing a display of small leather sheathes. I choose one with a thin strap and buckle, one that I can buckle onto a leg and keep concealed and handy. I go to pay for the sheath and ask for just a scrap of cord when I realize that the currency is unfamiliar to me. Does that mean that I'm originally not from this area? I ask the woman stretching leathers for the price and a cord. Her dialect is rather intimidating, like Aston's but much stronger.

"Te sheath'll be 7 gilce on de cordle be 2 pence." Eyeing your confusion, Aston points to the larger copper coins and nudges the smallest iron coins in your palm. "The brass coins are kilten... 'Sa fair price for a sharpening sheath, and she's not one to be negotiated with."

I hand over the coins that Aston has indicated and take my new sheath, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of new leather. I like that smell. Gratefully I bind my hair up and out of the way. I'll have time for a braid later maybe. I want to try on my new sheath but I don't really want to do it with Aston watching. Instead I ask him if the coins he's given me are only used within the kingdom or the city, and how far one might need to go to see a different currency.

"To the good sense of the king, we have our own currency, very clever. Most peasants don't understand currency exch-no matter. The office is back by-mind your Mark..." He carefully lifts your tunic by the shoulder as you tie your hair before checking briefly and subtly over his shoulder. "The most popular office is over back by the entrance where we came in. As with any bank, I doubt they'll let you just see currency upon asking, but you seem observant enough to see the currency exchanged. They'd have the highest variety, but the smaller offices would be more discrete. Any particular currency in mind?"

"I was thinking that if I recognized one of them, it might tell us where I come from. If these coins are only used in this kingdom, and I've never seen them, then I should at the least be preparing for a journey to the kingdom's border. That's all." Something else had just occurred to me. "I'm speaking the same language as you. Does that mean that I lived nearby?"

"Perhaps, but don't be mistaken, this currency is exclusive to this market and its brothers. We are in a rather small area, as far as the currency flies. If you're looking for cultural clues, also look for clothing and flags, every stand has one. This is one of the more diverse markets in the kingdom. While language isn't a very narrowing tell, it should bring hope that you're not from far. You haven't much by the ways of an accent." As I look around as he suggested I notice the small flags hung from a nail by the corner of each table or the post of each tent. Framed visions of leaves, trees, and animals confront me. Across the balconies, larger flags of Islingard, long triangular white with a silver border, hang. Several of the balcony dwellers have flags embroidered on a sash. "Would you prefer the larger or smaller banks?"

"Larger. That gives us the best chance to see one that's familiar to me."

"So be it. Maybe this'll come in handy, be discrete." Aston hands me a small glass cylinder: a spying glass. "Use it right, you may be able to make out some of the faces on the coins." As we walk back to the entrance, the guard we checked in with walks past, rotating his shift. At first he locks eyes with me but Aston's confident gaze draws then repels his.

The bank comes into view through the sea of people. It's cut into the wall of the castle, with some impressive iron bars between the keepers and the people. A small crowd has gathered, attempting to bargain and exchange for fair prices. Aston flanks me towards the right side of the window, away from the guarded arc.

I stand beside Aston, trying to appear as a merely casual observer as I watch the money change hands, feeling just a bit foolish, hoping I'm not wasting both our times. We hover for some time, watching the coins change hands and people bustling past, taking no notice of us. Just when I'm about to suggest we try something else, a small handful carried by a very old man catches my attention. I can't quite place it, but I feel something that is akin to recognition at the sight of the black and gold coins, just the vague stirrings of a memory. Taking notice of my reaction, Aston shuffles gently past and talks to the old man trying to exchange the coins. With some of the large Islingard coins, he exchanges for one of each of the coins, 5 in all. Aston returns briskly with a yell from the banker and pulls me in a sort of casual retreat under the nearest balcony, by a window out of the castle. The coins come in two colors: iron black and gold. Based on the size of the holes in the gold coins. they may as well be made of solid gold, with the kingdom smartly saving material. Both colors in small rings, both colors in half-dollar-sized rings, and a large iron disk with gold details. The details are organic and botanical, in swirls and rings around the faces of the coins. "Your coins, miss." Aston places the five coins in my hand for more intent inspection.

I accept the small handful of coins from a smiling Aston. As I take them, I am hit with a flood of familiar sensations. I recognize their shape and feel, how the different metals hold heat differently form the warmth of Aston's hand, and the dull clinking noise they make as they tumble together in my palm. I am hit with an unexpected feeling akin to nostalgia as I take a moment to look at them. They are the first thing that has felt normal to me all day. "Do you know where these come from?"

"I've only ever seen coins like this once before." He tumbles the largest of them over in his hands. "The plant designs aren't particularly useful, most castles are surrounded by dense forest and this just looks like various common vines and flowers." As he is speaking I notice some markings along the edge of the coin that I hadn't noticed before. The coins crafting information has been skillfully carved along the edge.

As I turn the coins around in my fingers, enjoying the way the sunlight burnishes the gold, I notice that they are in excellent condition, as though they didn't get handled very often, unlike the well worn handful that Aston had given me that had been polished smooth by many fingers. The inscriptions on these coins stood out in high relief. As I study them I notice that the very edges have been inscribed- the year, initials which must have belonged to the engraver, and a single word- Avalon. I point to the word and invite Aston to read the tiny script. "Does this word mean anything to you?"

Aston peers intently to where I am pointing. After a moment, "I cannot read those symbols...I only read English, Islindish, and proper Latin. It's a word?"

"You really can't read it? It says 'Avalon'." My mouth automatically takes shape to form the words written on the coin, and speaking them aloud I can tell that the word has a different sound altogether from the language I've been speaking with Aston.

"'Ovuloon?" Aston tries match my pronunciation. "Do you mean Avalon? The castle Avalon?"

"Is there a castle with that name?"

Aston breaks eye contact for a second, as if to gather himself. He sighs and scratches his head. "There used to be...It was either destroyed or disbanded about a year ago, I'm not sure which..."

"What does that mean? How do you not know which?" There's something he isn't telling me. I don't like it. Something about the name of that place has made him uncomfortable. But what does that mean for me? The castle is gone, but I know their coinage and speak their language. Which leads to the question I don't want to ask-was that my home? But he said it had been gone for a year. How long have I been away from home?

"I don't know what happened at the castle, some kind of riot or revolution against the lord... I only hear from rumours... The people there spread to other nearby castles. They're either assimilated or nomads now... That's why these coins are so rare, makes sense now... I just... Is that your home? ... If it is, I'm so sorry... Do you... are you remembering something now?"

I stare at the word again, trying to remember, waiting for a feeling or a sign or a spark of some memory, some sense of loss to tell me whether or not I had once belonged there. The people that may have recognized me-scattered. "The others... The ones you've helped already...Were they like me? Did they ever figure out where they came from? Or am I the only one who is lost?" I'm absolutely disgusted with myself, but I feel like I am biting back tears.

Aston's face shows his concern and sympathy. His voice is soft and honest, "A lot of them remember, yes, they just need a jolt. Some eventually set out without a destination… or risk settling down here... or it just becomes too much for them... Don't give up yet. What language is that? You can read and speak it, can't you? I know where the castle is... or was, but it's either abandoned or in ruins as far as I know...It's a start."

"Hey... you ok?" Aston puts a stabilizing and comforting hand on my shoulder.

What language am I speaking? I stare past him, not seeing the marketplace but seeing the words. For every word that I say there is another behind it in my head, ready for me without effort of conscious thought. I know the names for these things in the language that I saw on the coin. I open my mouth to speak. "Sina lammen ier sai iant ar' eller ier n'nir ya beth ta hyarya e' i' palurin. Sen yassen i' ins en' kalia nomin." Like water in a stream, the words form themselves in my head and flow out as easily as I breathe. I am only vaguely aware of the stares of those within earshot.

Aston is smiling at your revelation of language, but it's clear he has no idea what you said and is slightly mesmerized by the beauty of the language. He patiently waits to avoid interrupting your recall.

The look on Aston's face is as kind as always but I flush bright red at the attention and embarrassment for getting lost in a reverie like that. "I said, 'The words are ancient and there are few in the world who still speak them.'" I feel the need to be doing something with my hands, so to avoid Aston's stare I whip the leather cord out of my hair impatiently and hold it in my teeth as I start to braid. My hair nearly reaches the small of my back so the going is slow but my fingers know what to do and they fly as they ply together the long silky strands. The design is complex, with multiple smaller braids that reach my temple and either side of the crown of my head to meet at the nape of my neck. The result is functional as it keeps my hair out of my face and free from getting caught and pulled but was also clearly designed with form in mind.

Aston watches my braiding with approval. " You're remembering your culture. I'm glad. No disappointment of course, but I don't know your name, lady of Avalon." Aston takes the strip of leather from my mouth, ostensibly to allow me to speak. Noticing my discomfort, Aston guides us to a less populated area of the marketplace. He shows not an inch of impatience, he seems almost eager to explore what I've just remembered.

I smile. His ever-present courtesy has been exceptionally comforting to me. Hearing him address me so formally and politely takes much of my discomfort away. Lady of Avalon-I feel as though I've been addressed this way before. I walk towards a small fountain, hoping to check that my braid is straight since I did it from memory without looking. We pass a cart full of early autumn's first ripe apples-they are incredibly fragrant and I breathe in deeply, thinking of the ones Aston first offered me. These are small, round, and flecked with gold and russet. My favorites. I know that these are especially sweet, and not tart like the bigger green skinned ones I see scattered in baskets and barrels around the marketplace. Their name in the common language-Gala. This word's appearance in my head brings me up short in my tracks and Aston nearly bumps into me.

"Op! Sorry..." He realizes I'm locked in thought. "What is it?" Aston absent-mindedly hands my strip back to fasten my hair while he looks around for what the trigger may have been. He nods to the apple vendor as they roll the cart away.

"I know my name."

Aston squares up with me and offers his hand to ceremonially meet me.

"Gala. My name is Gala. Short for Galatea."

"Welcome to Islingard, Galatea of Avalon." Aston greets me excitedly. This is why he does this. "Your journey will take you three days north, then the closest castle will be another day west. Now that you remember your clothing preferences, you should celebrate with some warmer garb."

" Thank you for your welcome, Aston of Islingard." I respond with my deepest curtsy and most gracious smile. "Now, just when did I remember my clothing preferences?" I tie the remaining unbraided portions of my hair together low on the back of my neck, completing the look with which I am familiar.

A platonic and formal hand kiss and gladly meets me in response to my new confidence and comfort. "I just assumed you would pick something to compliment your hair."

"And what do you think might complement my hair?"

"Something equally warm and intricate. Come, let me introduce you to Eve, her woven shirt is all you'll ever need." Aston waves in the direction of the shop with a bow that puts my curtsy to shame. Laughing, I follow in the direction that he has indicated and enter the shop.

The tent is cool and, like the clothing, is skillfully woven cotton. Strands of the tightest woven and braided cotton I've ever seen is woven into intricate designs. A long sleeve shirt to my left is unbleached white with a sparse black and gold strand woven in, creating a gorgeous spiral pattern down the sleeves and torso. Surprisingly, most of the clothing in this shop seems to be fit for women. Aston embraces a short, fiery woman with a similarly natural weave of grey through her hair. "Wilcom dear. Aston, you always find the prettiest suitors." Aston has clearly heard this joke often but politely smiles.

I hide my embarrassment by stepping closer to the beautiful black and gold garment and admiring the well-made fabric. "You made these?" I ask. The elderly woman replies, "My mother does," and resumes weaving without missing a beat. Aston whispers, "She does, of course. I've never seen anything like it." Aston grabs a bottle of dye off the shelf and places it next to Eve.

"Thank you, dear. How'd the apples look today?"

"Looks like they'll be perfect tomorrow, love." The garments around me surprise in their use of color and the angle of the weave. Most pieces are a single weave from top to bottom. After a few minutes, Eve has a bowlful of the cotton weave, which shares its vessel with a gorgeous dusk blue dye. Eve looks at me, artist to subject, for a moment, then asks Aston a quiet question. As he reaches to grab a blood red bottle off the shelf he explains,

"She likes to turn people into a color. Looks like yours is going to be a purple...unless she's trying to throw me off." He grabs a yellow bottle just in case.

I watch her working, confused but fascinated. With one last glance at me she pours a spontaneous but artistically careful amount of red dye into the bowl. She asks Aston for the gold and laughs when he already has it. Then she asks him for a bowl of oil. "You're going to love this" he adds as he fetches it. She combines the gold and oil then adds it to the mixture. She reaches her hand in and with a swirl she hands the end to Aston, who walks it down the aisle of the store slowly. The inky strand is about 40 feet long after a full and careful extraction. Aston twists it as commanded and ties it above Eve, having gone down and back. Eve waves me away as if she doesn't want me to see it yet.

"She really likes you. See anything you like?"

At his question I start to browse through the garments in front of me, admiring patterns, reaching out and feeling the fabric. Some of them were much too fine for travel, clearly meant for festive occasions and the ease of town living-people who made their livings indoors and on paved streets. But there was a selection of clothes that would be suitable for a woman traveling. As I go to inspect them, a brightly colored robe catches my eye. It is highly ceremonial, the kind of thing worn on high feast days or when performing important sacraments. The robe had long, sweepingly wide sleeves with beautiful designs along the hems. The skirt of the dress was high waisted and pleated with a contrasting panel of fabric in the front that also made up the bodice, which rose to a modest height. It was form fitting throughout the waist and torso and opened up into a heavy, full skirt. The entire dress communicated an air of purity and dignity. It was beautiful. I knew that the sleeves would have small pockets discreetly sewn inside to allow for small vials or relics for different rites to be concealed until the appropriate time. As I stare, a single image flashes in my head-a woman with long dark hair, portions braided in a design like the one I now wore but more elaborate, in a dress like the one before me, one hand raised over a crying child in her mother's arms.

Aston is at my side. "Took her nine days to finish it. No one around here would use such a dress, it's not the most religious of castles, Islingard. I've long wondered why it was here and the only explanation is that it was a special order that no one came to pick up. Eve is in high demand for such vestments... Gala?... Galatea?..."

" Ve' er amin."

"I'm sorry, what's that now?" Eve also looks up in recognition of the language, but not in comprehension. I look up at Aston, surprised, then shake my head as if to dislodge the day dream. I hadn't even realized I wasn't answering him in the Common language. I haven't done that before.

"I'm so sorry, please don't mind me." I spare one last look at the dress, eyebrows furrowed, before moving on. I've probably frightened them. Aston has no reason to trust me and getting lost in staring fits and speaking a strange language isn't a good way to repay that trust or encourage it to continue. I quickly busy myself with the garments I had seen that seemed hard-wearing enough for travel. There was an outfit that I liked especially, a layered top of unbleached cotton, with a hooded and long sleeved shirt in the color of pale wheat. The front closed with a cord tied in a corset-laced style binding, as could the sleeves to keep them fitting tight against the cold or worn open for increased comfort and mobility. It was long, the hem ending maybe four or five inches above the knee. This gave the appearance of a skirted garment but allowed a woman to wear a pair of chaps or breeches that laced tightly against the legs and went to the knees and some linen or woolen leggings to wear under boots, similar to what riders wear. This gave all the mobility of pants without the immodesty of cross dressing. Over the looser hooded shirt there was a second layer, a sort of short vest that laced tightly closed and reached just under the ribs and bust, which was useful because it meant that one size fit all-even those with much less curvy figures, like my own. I had found that many of the other studier outfits were clearly built to accommodate the generally more busty and wide-hipped farm wives and daughters of the area. My own physique could more easily be described as "slight" by those being kind and "beanpole-like" by those who were not. I stand and inspect the garment, fingering the soft yet sturdy fabric.

Aston is washing his hands clean of dye in a bowl. Eve sees me inspecting the piece from across the tent and offers a private place in the back to try it on, a very trusting gesture, and resumes caring for the strand. She's about half way finished with it and appears to be drying it somehow. I thank her, and with a look to Aston to ensure that his attentions are occupied elsewhere, I take the bundle and go where Eve has indicated-a curtain hung up on the back corner, behind some stacks of cloth and unspun cotton. Once inside I groan-I'm not sure how I feel about there being nothing between a naked me and the outside world but a curtain. But she was nice enough to offer to let me try it on, so I grit my teeth and undress as quickly as possible, which doesn't take long since I'm only wearing the tunic I was given and the leggings I woke up in. As I put on the new clothes, (also as quickly as humanly possible,) I start to feel a change in my whole demeanor. I lace up the pants, leave the sleeves loose, and buckle the bodice together tightly over my chest and I instantly feel more capable and prepared, while wearing the unfamiliar loose-fitting tunic had made me feel exposed and unsure. I stretch my arms and legs, flexing my fingers and testing my recently weakened limbs. I feel more rejuvenated than even the food had made me feel. These clothes suited me. I was about to go outside to show Aston when I stopped short-my Mark. While the neckline was hardly risqué, it did not cover my collar bone to the neck, even laced up. Before starting to panic, I remember that I still have the shift that I woke up in inside my canvas bag. After a few rips, I have enough of the flimsy fabric for a makeshift scarf. I wrap it twice around my neck, making sure I'm covered, and let the ends trail behind my back. Once I'm satisfied that I won't be exposed, I take a steadying breath and step out from behind the curtain.

Eve is hurriedly wrapping fabric around a wooden bust, as if she were trying to prepare a surprise. As I step out, Eve catches sight of me and almost comically throws herself in front of the bust. Clearly she is trying to impress me. I smile. Aston comes out of the back with a large, very shallow bowl. "Gala, I've a bowl here so you can see your refl-" Aston stops short of walking into me. After a quick, respectful glance to the base of my neck, he straightens up to take me in. "Well! Looks like someone's feeling more back to their old self again! How does it feel?" Setting the bowl down, his hands work the perimeter of the clothing: rolling, pulling, and pinching the garments experimentally, but in the end seems very pleased with the fit. He glances backwards to Eve, who also seems very pleased. With a multi-lingual merchant's average proficiency, she remarks "she' lir 'vo [you look great]." Aston adds, "She's trying to get something prepared to show you. It won't be ready to wear, sadly, but something about you has inspired her next garment. She likes to show her muses the effects of their inspiration. The bowl is there if you want to see." He whispers: "If you want it you don't have to take it off, but do go back behind the curtain, for Eve's joy." Aston again steps away, back to a task.

I smile at his thoughtfulness of the woman's feelings, and acquiesce, bowl in hand. Back behind the curtain I remember that I haven't yet tried on my new sheath. Lifting the shirt hem just a few inches, I buckle it on my right thigh, where it won't be seen and can be easily and quickly accessed. For a woman traveling alone it could sometimes be beneficial to visibly carry a weapon, as it discourages others from thinking you a helpless target. However, it could also have the opposite effect on some men, seeing it as a challenge and assuming that a woman would not be trained in its use but taking advantage of the bluff. Better to appear non-threatening and unimportant, with the element of surprise available. I place the bowl on the ground and stand over it, glancing down at my reflection. The woman I see looking back at me has long dark hair, nearly black, the color that could be described as "burnt sepia". It has no natural waviness or body but cascades down my back as straight as an arrow. My skin is much paler than Aston's and even Eve's. Did I spend a lot of time indoors? Arched brows sit high on my forehead, giving my face a look of great solemnity. Do I really look that severe? I have a relatively short stature and an extremely slight and willowy build, not suitable for nearly any kind of physical work. I wonder at what my occupation might have been. Inspecting my hands, I see that they do not have calluses across the palms as a farmer might have had, but instead on my fingers. From holding a pen? Overall they are soft and equally pale, with long fingers. Inspecting further, the tips appear stained, with what could have been ink, or perhaps the sap from plants. Maybe I did live on a farm but was consigned to the kitchen because of my inadequate build. Taking in the entire picture, I try to become reacquainted with myself. Galatea of Avalon. Who was she? And who would she be now that there was no Avalon to return to? Thinking that enough time had passed to satisfy Eve, I once again venture out.

Eve is standing proudly behind the bust, which is not five feet from the curtain when I emerge. The fabric is not cut and stitched, but simply carefully folded and pinned to give the impression of the front view of the future garment. The sleeves are tight and slender, made with bleached wool, brilliantly white. The top comes together in almost a robe, or a gi front with overlapping panels, but the main feature of the article by far is the accenting thread. The middle is the center of the back bottom hem. From there it winds up the edges of the flaps, growing to about an inch thick. It thins rapidly as it rolls over the tops of both shoulders into a tight spiral around the arms. The spiral curls occasionally and changes direction. The thread itself (a thin strap) is in stark and brilliant contrast to the white. It is a deep but vibrant purple. Looking closer however, there is an unmistakable swirl of pine green right on the thread. "Oil and water don't mix" Aston commentates as you lean closer. There are a few spots along the thread that the colors do overlap or blend in a way that perfectly mimics your hair color. Eve is pleased with your reaction and speaks joyfully to Aston in the local language. He laughs as she talks. "She apologized for not having met you before having met you. And she offers you the clothes you're currently wearing for half of whatever coinage you are carrying." You become aware of Eve poking and prodding your outfit now. She produces a thick strand of soft cotton, complimentary in color, which she uses to replace your strip covering the mark. She does so carefully and secretly, showing no signs of the pre-warned freak out.

I look to Aston, beginning to panic as she unwinds the strip I've put there and replaces it with the strip in her hands. Did she already know about me? Aston gives me a reassuring look. She knows Aston very well, and would most likely know how he spends his time outside the shop. She also would have noticed such an alteration to her work. Right before Eve unwinds the last bit of strip, she checks around her, just in case. Upon seeing the Mark, she kisses her hand and gently places it over the Mark as she prepares to wrap the softer, more natural cloth around Gala.

My breathing starts to return to normal. From the stories Aston has been telling me, I was prepared to bolt-my mind was already planning escape routes. But Eve wasn't afraid or horrified-just as kind as before. I didn't know who to thank for my good luck in finding these two to help me-so I resolved to make sure I thanked Aston properly before I left. For some reason, the thought of leaving was weighing heavily on my mind, almost as though I was dreading the upcoming moment. But what was I searching for? The ruins of a place that might have once been my home? The place where Eve had put a hand to my neck was still warm. Aston, who was casually leaning to disguise being a lookout, has a few words with Eve in the local dialect, which Eve speaks much faster.

"Congratulations, it's yours. As far as I can tell, you're just lacking food supplies. There's only so far jerky can get you." He doesn't sound like he's rushing you, but is clearly goal oriented. It sounds like he's bidding farewell of Eve in Islindish as he gathers up your old garbs.

"What do I owe her?" I ask, feeling just a little guilty, since it was Aston's money in the first place. I sincerely hope I'm not taking advantage of his generosity, but I wouldn't be able to make the trip in just the light tunic and I had no money of my own and little chance of getting any. I hold out the handful of coins.

Aston smiles. "If you insist, she said half of whatever you're carrying. But if you're worrying about me, it's of no use to me. I cannot buy anything in the market anyway. The apple merchant knows I'm buying for Eve, but that's about it. I'm not even allowed to buy clothes from Eve!" A grand gesture to his ratty appearance. Now that I'm looking directly at it, I see it's been patched to hell and back, probably with scraps Eve is pitching. I look him up and down, seeing the faded patches at the elbows and knees, the holes and tears, the frayed corners. I suddenly feel very sad that he could be compassionate enough to clothe someone he doesn't know but cannot even do the same for himself. I suddenly wish I had something to offer him. Putting on the most serious face I could muster, I hold out the tattered scrap from my recently re-purposed shift. "Would you like a brand new scarf?"

Aston smiles, he's clearly not ashamed of his condition. "It'll suit me perfectly, my lady, thank you." He takes it and folds it ever so gently into his pocket to be used later. "So, Gala, what do you like to eat?"

I grin. "Apples, of course." They really were my favorite-I had always had a terrific weakness for sweet things. It was a coincidence that Aston had chosen this to share with me when he found me. It seems strange to me—and terrifically frustrating—that this tiny detail about myself I have retained, or instinctively understand, but the largest, most basic questions—my name, my home—would still seem hopelessly out of reach.

"But I'm afraid they're somewhat impractical for travel. I should really stock up on biscuits and the like..." I was glad he had accepted my gift, meant partly in jest, but I still wished there was something I could do for him in return for everything he had done for me. I was suddenly struck with inspiration: Aston could buy nothing for himself, but... Asking him to excuse me while I tarried just a moment longer, I return to the piles of clothing briefly, picking up an item I had noticed in my earlier browsing. It was a simple linen vest, black with an attractive woven pattern in a cream color, perfectly suitable for a man. I divide everything in my coin bag that I have left, then add a single of the larger and more valuable gold coins to the pile. Holding them out to Eve, I thank her formally for the clothing and her hospitality, adding "Your work is truly beautiful and is a credit to your craft. Would you allow me to purchase this as well?" I don't know if Aston will go for it, strict with the rules of his bargain as he was, but this technically wasn't breaking any. I hold out the money.

Eve smiles and closes my hand again around the coins. "You are a very kind person, Gala, but Aston cannot. Food, yes. Luxuries, depends, but if the guards see him wearing a new vest..." She gives a sad smile. "I wish the lord could meet you, he might change his mind about You."

My jaw is set. "And I wish I could meet him." I'd give him a piece of my mind, all right. I don't understand why Aston is treated so poorly for doing something so simple. I turn my smile to him. "I'm sorry Aston. I tried." But the task at hand is to get enough food for a trip of indeterminate length. I don't have the first clue about what sort of food to bring. I wonder if this is because I am inexperienced with travel? But I feel instinctively that this is not the case. Faint memories, maybe only daydreams, of lonely campfires burning away through the night... The need to lay low, stay quiet, pack light... And always, the Hunger, dominated and drowned out by the Words and the Light, the peace, strength and discipline that I had ventured out to find... I snap myself out of this reverie before my hosts can become alarmed. "What sort of food would you bring?"

"Well, certainly not biscuits!" Aston walks down the food lane of the market, pointing to stalls on either side. "Jerky is good because it won't spoil, but it's not very nourishing. You'll need some fruit, but it won't last longer than four days. You'll need a water skin or something to boil water in, which peeves me is not included in the exile bundle... flint and steel... something sweet?"

I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, and before I can stop it I'm laughing full on. I laugh and laugh, uninhibitedly, tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. The Exile Bundle? Like I won a prize at a raffle in some fair. His choice of words, and his sincere irritation with those Powers That Be that sent me on my merry way without a word of explanation and a damn rucksack, is endlessly amusing to me.

Aston tries to keep talking, but is caught up in the contagiousness of the outburst. "What'd I say?" He suddenly glances around nervously and with the growingly familiar pressure, he pushes us ahead. "Sorry, the wool vendor back there is not a fan of mine, simply for being a fan of yours. Remember, you're going to have to carry your food. So try to pick filling items, okay?"

As suddenly as it began, I choke off the laugh. Something feels strange. I shouldn't be laughing in the company of men. In fact, I shouldn't be getting this familiar with one, or be seen walking and speaking with him in public. Something about it has rubbed me entirely the wrong way, and I have no idea what. I wasn't about to answer his charity with coldness, however, so I suppress the uncomfortable feelings and turn to him again. "But I don't understand. Why waste energy packing food at all?"

"Unless you are a proficient hunter or immortal, you need food to live. Just long enough to get to the next castle. You can walk directly to the closest castle to stock up before venturing towards Avalon if you want, might be wise. Save you a day's worth of supplies."

"But it's autumn. All I need is a knife. Columbine and yarrow roots are soft enough to eat now, not to mention the primrose hips all over the place. Those are good to help stop bleeding too as long as you don't use too much—you can put someone out for days that way. And you can always chew on sassafras leaves, or marjoram if you haven't eaten for a few days, they both make a good anesthetic and will help numb you somewhat. That with marigold roots for the dizziness, and you can go without food for days if you're focused enough. I'm sure there are horse chestnut trees in the woods, they taste completely awful but it will keep you alive if you crack them open in a fire first-that and acorns obviously. Besides, I can build a pretty good squirrel trap, and they always have more nuts and things buried nearby..."

Seeing Aston's face I add, "…But I could also just bring some apples instead."

"I've vastly underestimated you." Aston is smiling at the sudden revelation of my knowledge and remembering. "Alright then, if you're confident those things will be able to be found around here, we don't have to bother with food, but there is one more thing that we must acquire."

That's one thing I didn't consider. I wasn't familiar with this terrain. I couldn't even be certain that I waked here myself. I turned to pay for a few day's worth of apples, some small hard pears and a tough chunk of bread to be on the safe side while I ask, "And what might that last thing be?"

Aston walks us to a far corner of the market. There is actually a stone shop set into the wall here; it's a bindery. Aston picks up one of the small, leather-bound notebooks. "To help you remember." He hands it to me for purchase for one of the largest coins. He pulls out of his pocket a hand whittled stick of graphite. "Pocket quill. Just sharpen it when it gets dull. It'll get on your hands, but it's safe."

I look down at the notebook he's given me. "I don't understand-how will this help me remember?"

"Write in it, keep a journal. It'll help you remember what you've remembered so far. fI you also used to write a journal, and even if you didn't, it'll spark new things. Writing is the best thing for the mind. A few others I've helped have also written me, but I don't ask for or expect this."

"You keep in contact with the others? How many of us have there been?"

"Not all of them keep in touch, very few actually."

"So... You don't know what happened to the rest of them." I look down. I wish I knew what was ahead in my own immediate future. "Have you ever seen any of them again after saying goodbye?"

"No news is good news right? I send them off well-stocked and with a good heading. I give them the best chance I can but more importantly I give them hope. No one else here cares for them, save Eve and one other. I've seen the dark side of what it does to people."

I didn't want to think of what that 'dark side' looked like-the thing that made everyone here so afraid of me. "You say there is one other?"

"The leather vendor. She was a close friend of my mother's, so..." Aston smiles but his eyes betray him. "So we're close is all... She's always been so supportive..."

"The woman I bought the sheath from?"

"Aye."

"Supportive? What do you mean by that?" There's clearly more than he's saying, and I don't want to pry but I am curious.

"Well—the other merchants—I think a lot of them secretly agree with the work that I do to help the Abandoned. I think some of them wish that they could help, too."

"But they don't have the restrictions that you do." I had seen the looks certain of the others had been giving him in the market. That and his clothes... Not to mention the hardship of getting supplies. "They don't suffer for it like you do." I tried to remember the face of the woman stretching leather. I took a shot in the dark, wanting to know more. "She and your mother, are they still friends?"

Aston's eyes betray his stoic face. "...Yeah... sure... I mean... heh, she hasn't seen her in a while, but..." he shrugs "Still friends. And the deal I made is mine and mine alone. I'm the only one ever to come forward with opposing feelings. I'm sure more feel sorry for the Abandoned than say so." Aston keeps walking as a few overhear the word.

Something is off. I haven't seen him this rattled since we met. What is unsettling him? And something else has been bothering me since he started helping me. I had kept my questions to myself, grateful for his help, whatever the reason for it, but I need to know. I stop walking in the middle of the street, put a hand on either of his shoulders and turn him to look me in the face. The crowds surge around us like we were a stone sticking out of a stream. "Aston, you never told me why you do this. You have no more reason to trust me than anyone else here—how can you be so sure that I'm not as 'dangerous' as everyone else thinks I am? Why did you make the deal? What are we to you that you give up so much?"

"..."

Aston's tone is soft, the first time his voice has dropped its charisma and optimism.

"...My mother was Abandoned. She disappeared for two weeks. When they found her, it was like no one ever knew her. No one helped her. No one tried. They wouldn't even let me see her... she… the reason people are afraid of the Abandoned is because they go mad. The reason they go mad, believe me, is because they are people who are suddenly feared, suddenly shunned, suddenly cast out and separated from the ones they love. My mother wa-..." Aston's head reels back in emotion. He looks around at the people with increasingly cold eyes. "Not here." His tone so icy his breath almost fogs. He glares at the exit archway. After a breath so he doesn't channel any anger at you, his teary steeled eyes meet yours. "Do you have everything that you need?"