"That was...er enlightening," said Joan, looking around. "Which way now?"

"Downstream?" suggested Fred. It led away from the creepy looking forest, and was, therefore a good direction.

"Perhaps if we follow the stream we will find people," said Joan, "or a village or something."

Fred perked up at the thought of a village. People meant civilisation. Civilisation meant tea. He knew that on some level he was obsessing over tea to distract himself from the immediate discomfort of his situation, but he didn't care. Right now Fred's peace of mind, his equilibrium, the very fibre that held his soul intact, the fine, gossamer strands that kept his mind from hurtling down the black and tepid rapids of despair was the thought of the steaming hot beverage that surely awaited him around the next corner.

And so he led the way, ladle at the ready, following the gently winding course of the brook. Fred kept a weather eye out for spiders or anything else that looked like it might bite. He highly doubted spiders would be the end of it and found himself wondering morbidly what else might exist in this bizarre place. Wolves were almost a certainty, but what else? Dragons? Gryphons? Zombies? For a while, his mind ran wild thinking over the possibilities before he remembered to focus on the tea. His eyes glazed over as he daydreamed, imagining in graphic detail a mug of steaming, caffeinated, hot, milky glory. He was so distracted he completely missed the log lying partially concealed in the grass and nearly fell headlong into the stream.

"Sorry," he said to the log, as he righted himself and then paused in shock when the log grunted at him. His first thought was that it was a crocodile or some sort of ogre but then soon realised it was too brown and fleshy to be either of those things. It was, in fact, a small woman. Lying full length on the ground she was of indeterminate age and almost invisible amidst the grasses.

"Are you alright?" Joan asked, kneeling down by her side, a look of concern spread across her face.

"I'm fine," came the mumbled reply. "Bugger off."

"Are you sure?" asked Fred, a little perplexed. It was difficult to see what she looked like, but he got an impression of sad brown eyes, nondescript brown hair, chainmail and general disgruntlement.

"I'm fine," the recumbent figure snapped and went back to staring up at the clouds. Fred and Joan stood awkwardly for a moment.

"Well then, if you are sure, nice to meet you and all that."

They waited. No reply was forthcoming. Fred met Joan's eye and they both shrugged, turning to continue their trip down the stream. They trudged on in silence. Less than a minute later a movement on the banks attracted Fred's eye. His hand was already lifting the ladle before his brain had fully registered the spider which was scuttling towards them in a blur of nasty, pincer-y legs. Fred swung and missed, hitting the ground with a dull thunk. To his horror the spider sped around him, racing up the hill and straight for the spot they had left the small sad woman. He ran. As fast as he could he ran, back up the slope and arrived in time to see the spider leaping atop the woman's face. She mumbled something that Fred could have sworn was "this is fine", as he leapt. Time slowed. Fred reached desperately with his arm, his sockets straining as he hung suspended in mid-air for what felt like an eternity but was, in fact, a few seconds. The woman screamed, convulsed and then lay still. Fred crashed down beside her, batting the creature off her with one brutal, overarm stroke but it was too late. She lay unmoving, her eyes glassy, reflecting the slow movement of the clouds above, her ravaged face bleeding from a dozen bites.

"Oh my god," said Joan, her face white. They both stared down at the woman's body in horror.

A loud bong rang out across the meadow, so loud it almost drowned out the simultaneous ping of Fred's XP point accumulating. As they watched her body collapsed in on itself. It sank into the ground with a grotesque sucking motion and she was gone as if she had never been. Fred sat, heavily, the ladle a sudden weight in his hand.

"I wasn't fast enough," he said. "I should have been quicker."

"No," said Joan, putting a shaking hand on his knee. "No, you did your best, she­–"

There was a noise like an orchestral flourish and they both looked up, startled, eyes wide and watery as a door appeared in midair. It was stout, wooden and familiar. They gaped. It swung open with a creak. The strange, sad, log woman stepped through it, landing with a dispirited thump in the grass. When she straightened Fred got a good look at her – her face was as fresh as a daisy, her eyes puffy and blank but whole, the skin of her cheeks unbroken. She was wearing a rather nice gleaming chainmail over a kilted leather skirt and carrying a rather impressive looking flail. Which she dropped immediately. But then she didn't look like she had the spirit to wield a teaspoon, much less a flail. A brown shoulder bag hung limply at her side.

"What–"

"How–"

She ignored both of them, shuffling forward with a few zombie-like steps before flopping down in the grass once again. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just had her face chewed off by a demonic spider in front of them.

"Um," said Fred, lost for words. The woman let out a small sigh and continued to lie, face blank and staring upwards. Joan hurried over to her and tried to pull her up by one arm.

"It's dangerous," she said, rather unnecessarily Fred thought.

"Leave me alone."

"It's dangerous," repeated Joan.

"It doesn't matter," said the sad mouse woman. "I keep coming back. Nothing matters."

"It does matter," said Fred, aghast.

"Every time you die," said Joan, "you lose a life. You only have ten. How many have you lost?" The woman looked at them, her face unreadable.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters," said Joan firmly. "What's your name?"

"Failure," said the mouse, after a pause. She looked away. "Epic Failure."

"Do you want to come with us? We are exploring, looking for a village or something. You are welcome to join us?" Joan shot a quick look at Fred who nodded. As far as he was concerned the more the merrier. It was not like it could get any weirder. Actually, he thought, glancing around nervously, that was probably a foolish thing to say. Or to think.

"I'm fine," said Epic Failure. "I'll just stay here."

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay then...er...well please keep an eye out for spiders, Epic."

They walked away feeling self-conscious, and Epic Failure watched them go with thoughtful eyes.

"That was weird," said Joan.

"I can hear you," said Epic Failure, from behind them. Fred and Joan hurried forward, following the rocky banks down the meadow which was sloping gently.

"It was weird," muttered Joan once they had put a bit more distance between them. "And sad."

"Weirder than the book with the pompous floating head?" asked Fred. "Or the naked man? Or the old lady in full battle armour?"

"Fair point," said Joan.

They picked their way along the stream banks, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The gentle incline turned to a steeper slope until the stream was dashing itself against jagged rocks and hurling itself over a series of rapid waterfalls. Looking down the valley Fred could just make out a motley collection of buildings gathered on the banks of the stream which widened out to a placid river on the valley floor.

"Look!" he said. "A village! Should be interesting." Joan nodded, her face pensive and they continued down, stumbling now and then as the ground grew steeper. The village was further away than it looked and Fred's stomach was telling him it was time for a snack. At least his leg felt fine. In fact, it felt as good as new.

Joan huffed beside him, and he glanced at her, noticing that the colour in her cheeks was high. She was making faces as they walked, her eyes making angry contact with the ground ahead of them. Up until now, her manner had been calm, soothing even, but now she looked ready to bite the lid off a kettle.

"Everything okay?" Fred asked, keenly aware that he knew next to nothing about her. But she looked upset. "Apart from being dead?" he added under his breath. Joan sighed loudly and looked as if she was about to say something, and then changed her mind.

"It's not fair," she blurted out at last.

Fred looked at her in surprise.

"You're the one who said–"

"I know what I said."

Fred buttoned his lip and they walked on through a cloud of dandelion blossoms and sullen silence, the sun sinking gently towards, what Fred optimistically assumed was the west. Joan puffed beside him like a very attractive locomotive and he felt the need to try and make her feel better.

"I mean it's all very odd," he said. "But it doesn't seem so bad? I know the spiders were creepy, and god, the dying and respawning thing is creepy as fuck but–"

"What the hell would a baby like you know about it?"

There was an awkward pause.

"I am not a baby," said Fred with all the dignity his six-foot-tall, 145lbs of tattooed muscles could muster. Joan flushed.

"No, I mean, I know that. There are no children in the dungeon. I just mean– I don't think you realise what a disadvantage we are at."

"How do you mean?"

"We are the dungeon babies! The young ones! The weak ones! The ones who died before their time! We didn't have time to stack our stats! We are poorly equipped, no one will want to make a party with us! And why would they? All we have between us is a ladle and a fancy teaspoon! That old woman back there had a full suit of armour and a morning star! I mean what do we have that she doesn't? What do we possibly have to offer?"

"A full set of dentures?" suggested Fred. His brow creased. "But so what? I mean there isn't a time limit is there? We can respawn? So what if it just takes us a bit longer to get to The End?"

"And that's until people figure out they can start killing us for our XP and the contents of our bags. Not that that's an issue right now," Joan glared bitterly at the teaspoon and wilted leaves she was clutching in her fist.

"Do you want me to carry them for you for a bit?" Joan looked torn, glaring at the crumpled foliage in her fist. "I promise I'll give them back as soon as you want them."

"Fine." Joan handed them over and Fred put the rather sad leaves and the rather warm teaspoon safely in his bag. She massaged her jaw. "All this talking," she said. "It's been centuries since I talked this much."

"Centuries," said Fred, flatly. Joan looked guilty.

"Figure of speech."

"Hmm."

They walked on. In the distance, Fred could make out a couple of fields dotted with crops and an orchard of some sort. Then, as they crested a ridge in the fold of the mountain a ruined farmhouse came into view. The roof was mostly gone and the stone brick walls had a rather battered and tumble down appearance. The whole place had a mysterious and rather inviting air.

"Oh look at that," said Fred. "I wonder if we should check it out?"

"Definitely," said Joan. "We might find something that will be useful. Maybe there are some skill books. Or something to eat."

"Skill books?"

"Yeah, you read them, and they can teach you skills. And they give you XP. Help us level up faster."

"Sounds good to me."

They changed direction slightly, leaving the stream behind and angling their angle course so their steps would take them past the ruin. Fred spent a few minutes fantasizing about the unlikely possibility they would find a kettle, a functional fireplace and some teabags hidden within the ruin. But something was tickling the back of his mind. He managed to stop thinking about tea long enough to turn the conversation of the last few minutes over in his mind.

"Hold up," he said, grinding to a halt. Joan ploughed into the back of him and then stopped in surprise. Wheeling about he turned to look her square in the eye. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Know what?"

"That there are no children here? We've seen two people, no three people besides us. There could be a high school around the next corner for all we know, or a Wilderness Camp for Confused Nerds. Or a crèche. Skill books. Parties! The Guide didn't tell us any of this stuff. Come to mention it, you knew about XP before he told us about that too? Joan? What's going on?"

Joan didn't meet his eye. She shrugged.

"Lucky guesses?"

"Oh come on. You knew about The Spoon of Destiny!"

"What about it?"

"You knew naming the stupid ladle would give it more power."

"I had a hunch."

"I don't think anyone is that lucky. Come one, Joan of Snark, I'm not an idiot. How do you know this stuff? If we are travelling together I need to be able to trust you." He folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet firmly. "I'm not moving till you talk," he said, just in case it wasn't clear. Not everyone was good at reading body language after all.

"Alright alright," said Joan, rounding on him with a glare that could have stripped bark from a log. "You've got me. This isn't my first time, okay?"

Fred tilted his head, blinking a little. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting but it wasn't that.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've been here before."

"What?"

"It's the Reincarnation Station, right? People play to get reincarnated, yes? Well, I have played before. I played before and I won. I was reincarnated."

"Hold on," said Fred. He lifted one finger thoughtfully. "Yes, as I suspected. I need to sit down for a bit." He arranged himself on the ground, legs crossed and looked up at her. "Carry on..."

"So this is my second game. Which is how I know how incredibly fucked we are."

"So you've done this all before? You've clobbered spiders...you know what's coming next? You knew why the naked man was naked?"

"Well, no not exactly. I mean, it wasn't exactly the same. I'm hoping being a repeat player will give us an advantage. The basic structure seems to be the same but things have been moved around. Last time it started with skeletons. And I have no idea what the internet is."

"Skeletons," said Fred, weakly. "Wait, what?"

"Yes. But from what the Guide said it seems like the underlying structure is the same. I know the dungeon gets bored."

"The dungeon gets bored," repeated Fred. He dusted himself up and stood up. Then he thought better of it and sat back down again. Joan sighed and took a seat beside him.

"I wasn't lying to you on purpose," she said. "It's just... I don't know. You can't just trust everyone straight away. That will get you in trouble fast. What do you want to know?"

"So you've been reincarnated?"

"Yes."

"So what's that like?" Joan shrugged.

"Good! I mean, it was going great until I got cut down in my prime."

"Cut down?"

"Yeah, at the end of the game, if you win, you can choose. I chose to be reincarnated as a redwood tree. My first life was rather exciting and I wanted something a bit more peaceful. My plan was to live a quiet, meaningful life and then come back with monster stats but then," Joan's face grew red with rage, "I was cut down when I was three hundred and twelve."

"That's pretty old," said Fred, lamely.

"No," said Joan, "it's not. Redwoods can live for more than two thousand years. I was robbed. And here I stand, a mere stripling." Her glare could blister paint and Fred leaned back a little.

"I guess that's why you didn't have storage," he said. She nodded. "You weren't just into minimalist living." Joan shook her head. "You were a tree."

"Yes."

"A tree..."

"Hmm."

"So what's that like? Being a tree..."

"Great," said Joan, her glare reaching truly epic proportions. "I miss it. I miss having bark. I miss having leaves and my own family of warblers. I miss the elk. I miss the slow, gentle cycle of the seasons passing." She screwed up her face and yelled, her voice bouncing off the distant rocks. "I miss the peace and quiet! Gah!"

"And before you were a tree?" asked Fred, whose brain was ticking over slowly. It was one thing to be told about reincarnation. He understood the concept. Meeting someone who had undergone the process was another matter though. Meeting a tree...he felt a little hysterical.

"Before I was a redwood I was playing the game," Joan's face took on a dreamy quality, her eyes growing distant as she remembered. "In my first life, I died in my bed, old and content. I had a great life so I had amazing stats. You should have seen my starting armour it was amazing." She lapsed into silence, lost in a reverie of nostalgia.

"So if you died...er.. the second time when you were a tree of three hundred–"

"Three hundred and twelve–"

"–of three hundred and twelve, then you must have died the first time when you were..." Fred's lips moved as he did the maths, "...um in the 17th century. Or the beginning of the 18th century, depending on how old you were?" His eyes bulged.

"That's right."

"Holy shit."

"That's why I haven't got a clue about half the things you say," she said, with a smirk. "I'm hardly up to date with the culture and mannerisms of... whenever it is you died. I didn't take any notice of people," she said, bitterly. "Until they came with the chainsaws. I know what a chainsaw is."

"And your first life? I can't believe I just said first life."

"I was a pirate," her lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk, "among other things."

"A pirate."

"Yes."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Would I have heard of you? Black Beard? Anne Bonny?"

"Oh no," Joan said, tossing the auburn sheet of her hair. "I was successful. I got away with it all. Most of them are famous because they lived hard and died for the entertainment of others. I wasn't hanged, I died an old lady, warm in my bed and surrounded by my children and grandchildren."

"That must have been nice."

"It was." Joan stared thoughtfully up at the mountains. "It was a good life. A bit too exciting at times, I'll grant you, but I'd do it all again." Her eyes narrowed. "If I get the chance, that is."

She eyed the sinking ball of the sun.

"We should get going if we don't want to be out here at night. Let's check out this ruin and see if we can find something useful."