The bright sun was at its apex when Artyom finally met someone. Along the opposite side of the road came a boy, no older than 14, who was riding on a donkey with a basket of grain seeds on his back. The basket wasn’t tied to the donkey’s back, it was tied to the boy’s. Artyom was amused by the sight but tried not to let it show when he approached.

“Hello traveller!” shouted the boy when he saw Artyom, all in perfect English. Every World has its own rules on how Earthers are able to understand and interact with the language. In some, the universal tongue just so happened to be English or Japanese by some form of convergent linguistic evolution. In others, the magic that carries over Earthers imparts a sort of permanent translation spell into their minds, allowing them to immediately become fluent in the if not many native languages. While the subject was interesting to some, Artyom never bothered worrying about it and just accepted the convenience.

“Hello!” shouted Artyom back. “What brings you out along these roads?” The job of a scout was to get a lay of the land and society. What better way is there to do so than by simply asking?

“Bringing this basket of wheat to market, sir,” replied the boy. “The baker who buys it even makes me a fresh loaf before leaving!”

Hmm, no middleman, Artyom thought to himself. Either this is a very big baker, or businesses buying directly from the source is the norm here.

“That must be some wonderful bread, then!” said Artyom, replying with saccharine smalltalk fitting for a Fairytale World. “Where are you coming from that grows such great wheat?”

“The village of Freeacres, sir! Just half a day’s walk back. Say, are you an adventurer?”

“So, adventuring exists as a profession here”, Artyom thought to himself. Performers of daring feats and heroic quests, adventurers were the meat of many Worlds’ defense industries. Need a terrible monster terrorizing a village killed? Call an adventurer. Need someone to investigate the existence of a powerful relic in a location fraught with danger? Call an adventurer. Does a great evil threaten the land and a united military front isn’t enough to stop it? Summon an Earther and call them an adventurer. Of course, many novice adventurers start with easier tasks in rural locations, of which Freeacres sounded like prime real estate.

“I can’t say that I am,” began Artyom. “I’m just a humble traveler. But if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll gladly help out around town. Say, are there any big issues in town that would call for an adventurer?”

The boy paused for a moment in deep contemplation. Or maybe he just blanked out? He eventually answered. “Well, Ruba’s inn has a rat problem and old man Collard has been complaining about his back more than usual.”

Artyom could see first the issue as one something a brand-new adventurer would take on, but not really the second. Still, going into town and ingratiating himself to the locals would be a good way of getting information from them, even if it would mostly be gossip. It was settled then, he’d head to Freeacres. Though there was one thing that was still bothering him…

“Say, why are you carrying that basket on your back while riding the donkey?” asked Artyom.

“Oh, well the donkey is starting to get a bit old so farmer Chey told me not to put too much weight on it,” the boy replied.

“But then why are you putting the weight on yourself as well?” asked Artyom, noticing that the donkey didn’t seem to be particularly struggling at its combined load.

“Huh?” asked the boy, absentmindedly. “I’m carrying it so the donkey doesn’t have to!”

“Was this kid for real?” Artyom thought to himself. “Look, things are heavy because they’re constantly being pushed down. That’s why things fall when they’re dropped.”

The boy nodded in response.

“And that grain basket is pushing on you, so that’s why it feels heavy.” Bits of frustration was starting to leak into Artyom’s voice. “When you’re sitting on your donkey, your body is being pushed down as well, making it feel the weight.”

The boy nodded again, seeming to follow along.

“And since the basket is pushing on you, who is on the donkey, the donkey feels the weight of both of them.”

The boy’s eyes alighted in epiphany and got off the donkey. Artyom and the donkey looked in anticipation as the boy took off the basket and tied it to the donkey’s back, while he took the donkey’s lead in his hand.

“I see it now!” exclaimed the boy. “If I carry the basket, its weight is added to mine, so the donkey still has to carry everything! If I take off the basket, then I don’t have to carry its weight, the donkey can. And I can just walk instead of carrying it on my back! Thanks traveller!”

The boy, quite pleased with himself, began to continue up the dirt road.

I was expecting him to just put the basket down on the donkey,” Artyom thought to himself while continuing down the road. “But at least he can learn, I guess.”

As the boy had said, by the time the sun was directly above him, Artyom arrived at the village of Freeacres.