August's keys scraped against the wood the appartment's front door. A quick turn, a click, and a turn of the door knob let him push the door open. His hands were- as ususal- full of books. Today's armful contained "The body and surgery in the Middle Ages" and "Medieval Medicine in Illuminated Manuscripts".

Even still, August managed to flip the lights on. He tossed his keys into the bowl he kept on the table by the front door.

"Meow" A furry tuxedo'd form said from futon.

"Good evening to you too, Minute. I'll get you some food." August said back, then walked over to the folding- yet perminate- kitchen table and offloaded his burdens with a heavy sigh.

That walk was killer today

August saught to his usual night time rotuine. He fixed something small dinner, something quick and microwavable. He had a small can of tea to go with it. Turning the shower on to warm while he set his PJs out, setting them ontop of the futon in the bed positon. A shower commneced followed by the brushing, flossing, and finally Mouthwashing of his teath. An hour or so of reading marked the end of his routine.

August was ready for bed by 9:15 P.M.

He plugged his phone in, looking at the alarm clock flash the time of 9:30 P.M. as he did. Sliding into bed, August felt that tonight would be a good night. He let his head fall to the pillow, the steady sound of his appartment lulling him to his dreams. August, cashere at Heart's Shelves, closed his eyes.

As the alarm clock fell to 9:45 P.M., the darkness of August's sight flowed darker. Then light touched his eyes, too bright to be coming from his room. It grew and grew, becoming mildly painful.

He cracked an eye open, then both, and blinked the sleep out of them. He was no longer in his room. In fact, the dull sound of the heater was gone. In it's place was the beautiful birdsong of a bright summers morning.

Without thinking about it, August took a deep breath through his nose. The relaxing scent of woodsmoke touched his nose, followed by the delightful oder of baccon, then the sizzling pop that said more was cooking.

He sat up, the simple tent he'd fassioned for himself had stumped the caravaneres he had been travling with. He didn't look like one to know so much woodcraft, they had explained.

He had told them that he was a healer and that such things were quite important to know.

"We're about half a day's walk to Streams Mill, Healer. You know of it? I know a good sellsword who frequents there, I'd like to introduce you to." Ward said, approaching August as he took a bite of the baccon. He'd had to sware off baccon in the real world as it disapointed him every time he cooked it. It never tasted as good as it did in his dreams.

"I've been around those parts, Ward. Came north from Grainway, passed through Streams Mill at the start of fall. Met plenty of sellswords there, maybe I know your man." August took a bite of egg.

"Is that how you ended up in the Commonwealth, lad? Aweful long treck. Did you cut through Waxlund's lands or Cannard's?"

"Waxlund's. His taxes are more generous to someone of my profession." That pulled a slight chuckle from the big man.

"I might be in the wrong profession, then. Aye?" August knodded, his mouth full.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then. We break camp in a quarter hour. Need anything before we depart?"

"How's Pep's leg looking?" August said after some thought.

"Well enough, lad. The wrap is a pinch dirty, but otherwise he seems on the mend." August consulted his memory of Pep's injury. He'd done all he could sans healing brew. Roses- Called heart's bloom- weren't plentful enough around here. Wild roses had some healing properties when boiled with moonroot in the dream. Odd as it was, August had tried to keep track of the funny rules here.

"I'll want to change the wrap before we break camp, but other than that he only needs rest, Ward." The man knodded, excusing himself to resume Caravaneer's duties August presumed.

August finished his breakfast, then saught to do his job.

The task of changing Pep's bandages was a simple one he'd done dozens of times to dozens of people, but it was steady work and took little time. The wound- gash caused by a fall and a sharp rock- was certainly looking better. August cleaned it, applied some general antibiotic ointment, than wrapped it back up. Finding a good recipe for that was a task, but he had his sudo neosporin on hand for things like this.

After that, he broke his little portion of camp. Down went the a-frame tent he'd fassioned between two trees. He rolled everything back up and tied it to his bag. He offered a hand to folks around him but they all waved him off.

His thoughts went inward, considering Stream Mill. It was fair in size when the subject of villages came up. A decent apothacary was there, and he could certainly use the opportunity to stock up on herbs. His mind made, and mental caluations compleate, August got onto the cart Ward had set him up on and the caravan left the campsite for Stream Mill.