Alarm bells rang in Keldon’s head as his mind raced. It couldn’t be… had they been watching him? He didn't want to believe it. Keldon swallowed the lump in his throat, wiping the sweat from his palms on his raggedy pants.

“S-so um, what’re you all doing here?” asked Keldon.

The question made Darian pause in the middle of his ramble, scratching his head.

“Hrm… what were we doing… Oh, I remember! We’re about to perform in a play!” said Darian.

“No Darian, you already know what we’re doing. We’re taking Clara here to see her uncle in Kharburn as a favor,” said Sims, gesturing to the bored toddler.

“How dull. Imagine how much more interesting things would be if we were in a play instead,” said Darian.

“Well, if we’re speaking on hypotheticals, you could say that all of life is a play old chap. Though if we were to argue the semantics as observers then I’d happily oblige, however, I don’t believe-” said Sims.

Darian jammed his fingers into his ears as he shut his eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath, unleashing a toe-curling scream at the top of his lungs.

“LOODYDOODYDOOLALALALA” yelled Darian,

Keldon yelped in reflex, stumbling back as Darian hollered. Strangely enough, Clara and Sims seemed unbothered by the banshee screeches. Sims simply just continued onwards with his monologue despite the incessant howls. Keldon watched in dumbstruck horror as eventually, Sims finished his speech, tapping Darian on the shoulders.

Immediately, Darian stopped. With a cheerful grin, Darian returned to normal with a pleasant smile as if nothing had even happened in the first place.

“Are you finished Sims?” asked Darian.

“That’s a rather morbid question to ask, isn’t it old chap,” said Sims. “At some point, I will be, though I’d like another cup of chamomile first.”

Keldon’s jaw dropped. What in the flying fuck did he just witness?

Sims reached over and lifted Keldon’s chin to close his mouth.

“Careful, you’ll let the demons out. There are better ways to catch flies if you must,” said Sims.

Keldon brushed Sims’s hand off his chin.

“I-is he okay? Like… up there?” asked Keldon, trying not to offend.

“Not all the time,” said Darian.

“Ah, I see,” said Keldon, shooting Sims a sympathetic look.

“I believe he’s got two cavities in his molars, terrible things they do to a man,” said Sims.

Darian nodded.

“No I meant… well I meant it more like.... does Darian have a condition?” said Keldon.

“Oh I see, my mistake. Yes, he does.”

Keldon nodded his head in understanding.

“The poor fellow will occasionally have to explain himself to people who take life too seriously. A horrible disease to have really. One that I’m afraid has no cure,” said Sims.

“Ugh no, I meant…” said Keldon, shooting a glance at Darian. “I meant was that screaming thing some kind of mental illness? Nothing against him of course, I’ve met plenty in my life who’ve had them.”

“Quite the opposite, he’s more right in the head than most of us,” said Sims.

Keldon raised an eyebrow at Sims.

“Are you aware of the phrase “ignorance is bliss?”” asked Sims.

“Familiar enough, what of it?” asked Keldon.

“Darian here has taken to that phrase quite literally. So, when I tend to ponder about the nature of our reality, he screams to block out my words. He'd rather not accidentally hear anything that would open his worldview. One time, he heard me muse about the purpose of human life and cried for three days,” said Sims.

Darian shuddered.

“Made me sick to my stomach. Could you imagine not knowing about the purpose of your own existence? Just awful I tell you, just awful!” said Darian.

“I...can't really argue with that," said Keldon. But despite the hiccup of incessant screaming, Keldon couldn't keep his eyes away from the crimson red ribbon.

"So why'd you end up stopping over here?" asked Keldon.

“ We're waiting ’till the cart gets fixed I suppose,” said Sims, pointing over to the broken spokes on one of the wheels.

Sims wasn’t lying. On closer inspection, Keldon noticed that on one side of the cart, the suspension sagged and from a certain angle, the cart was like a deflated balloon.

“What about the ribbon?” asked Keldon, pointing to the streak of red, flapping in the wind. He needed to know.

“Ah that. We were hoping the ribbon would signal to any passerbies that we needed assistance. Just a shame that we were at the back of the marching order so we were left behind.

"Where'd you get it?” pressed Keldon.

Sims raised an eyebrow.

“If we didn’t have any, who would?” said Sims, pointing to the crates in the back of the cart. “We’re fabric merchants. Care to peruse our wares?”

Keldon looked over to the crates, glancing back and forth between Sims and the cart. Sims beckoned him over, allowing him to inspect the cart at his leisure. Keldon crept up to the cart, creaking open one of the crates to find sheets of brilliant fabrics wrapped in wooden rolls.

“Guess that’s that,” thought Keldon.

Keldon browsed the different crates, finding barrels filled to the brim with dresses, cloaks, and tunics galore. Each were handmade with high-quality stitchings and tightly woven fabric.

“If you’d like, I could help you get the cart up and running,” said Keldon. “But in exchange, could I hitch a ride with you to Kharburn? And maybe get a set of fresh clothes.”

Sims stroked his chin, running his thick fingers through the dark coarse hair that grew on his body.

“Reasonable enough,” said Sims, reaching out for a handshake.

Keldon grasped Sims’s hand into his own for a firm shake.

“Looks like I’ve made a correct decision again Sims,” said Darian.

“I’d care to debate you on what we could consider as truly correct or not, but our new traveling partner here seems to be taken aback by your life’s calling to remain willfully ignorant. Let’s get him situated with the caravan and we can get our show back on the road,” said Sims, leading Keldon over to the caravan.

#

The caravan ended up being tougher to fix than Keldon had thought. Not only were the spokes broken but the ball bearings that allowed the wheel to turn had rusted, causing the wheel to lock up. However, Keldon had a few tricks up his sleeve. While Clara and Sims kept watch of the cart, Darian and Keldon had headed out into the forest to cut down a small tree. The entire way, Darian chattered about nothing, only stopping on occasion to hum or sing folk-like songs. At first, Keldon had second thoughts about the usefulness of Darian’s aid. But after seeing Darian cleave a RedBark tree in half with a single swing, those worries quickly disappeared as the tree fell to the forest floor with a thud.

Dragging the tree back to the camp, Keldon propped up the caravan with one half of the chopped tree. Taking out a pocket knife, Keldon was planning on using the other half to whittle out replacement spokes. During this whole process as well, Keldon had soaked the rusty ball bearings in a bath of white vinegar, treating them to an occasional scrub. Sims watched Keldon work with a human-like fascination, scratching his chin and making noises of understanding. If not for the obvious physical difference, Keldon wouldn’t have even guessed Sims wasn’t a human. Though, Keldon would be occasionally reminded when Sims would take a break from using his hands to read resorting to his bare feet instead.

A few hours later, with a bunch of help from Darian’s stupidly strong strength, Keldon had managed to get the cart back on the road. Darian squeezed Keldon with gratitude as he started to pack up their things while Sims helped Keldon get fitted into a new outfit. Sporting an oak-green cloak along with a pair of clean trousers and shirt, Keldon settled into the back of the caravan with comfort.

“All aboard!! Next stop, Kharburn!!” yelled Darian, and with a crack of the reins, the four of them set off.

Sims and Darian sat at the helm, steering the tortulga as the two of them had insisted that Keldon went to relax in the cargo space with Clara. Though reluctant, Keldon agreed, not wanting to turn down their hospitality. But it ended up being kind of awkward. Without Darian's incessant rambling of nothingness, there wasn't anything left to fill the void of conversation between him and Clara. The cart rumbled under Keldon as he sat with his knees tucked up against his chest between crates of clothing, not knowing what to say.

But Clara didn’t even attempt to make any sort of conversation, instead, simply staring out into the passing forest like a statue. Keldon shifted in his seat, looking around the cart for any distractions.

His eyes landed on Clara, who was fiddling with a stick. Maybe he should try talking to her again, perhaps she was just shy.

“So... you excited to see your uncle?” asked Keldon.

“Yes,” said Clara in a monotone voice.

“Uh… well, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get to Kharburn then?”

“Breathe,” said Clara.

"..."

“…I didn’t think I was that bad with kids,” thought Keldon.

He tried to engage Clara with interesting facts or other fun stuff. Sports, games, folktales, and monsters. That sort of thing that the kids at the hissings liked. But she'd only respond with the driest of answers, leaving Keldon scratching his head in confusion. Eventually, he just gave up, taking the rest of the ride in silence.

An hour or so later, the caravan cleared the forest. They had emerged into the open field of wheatgrass that Keldon saw at the horizon as the sun arced high in the sky. The yellows rays of light felt warm and inviting, piercing through the caravan tarp as Keldon’s eyes grew heavy. He fought against the weariness at first but soon succumbed to his exhaustion, drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later, a bump in the road sent Keldon tumbling. He scurried awake, shooting to consciousness in a panic.

"W-where?" said Keldon.

The fields of wheatgrass had disappeared. Instead, rolling hills of soil and boulders took their place, teeming with overgrown dandelions. But it wasn't the hills that stole Keldon's breath away, it was what was in them. Huge swaths of rusted broken swords littered the field, as numerous as the dandelions themselves.

And as if the endless field of rusted sword hilts weren’t enough, plunged in the center of it all was an enormous stone sword, five stories in height. It pierced out of the ground, stabbing into the heavens like a pyre of war as the sun glistened off the titanic hilt.

Keldon scurried to the front of the caravan, in awe at the vast change in scenery as his jaw dropped open.

Sims shut Keldon’s mouth.

This time, he let him.

“Where are we?” whispered Keldon.

“Why, we’re in the capital lad,” said Sims, sweeping his hand across the open field of blades.