The farmer’s face gave away just how much of a mess I looked. His tired, brown eyes had been trained on the line he was hoeing in the ground for his potato seedlings and not tracking my approach. By the look of him he had been working since sun up and had probably not stopped to eat anything all day, the bagginess of his clothes hinted that perhaps this had become a common occurrence and things had not been going well for him. It wasn’t until I was but a few feet away that he did finally look up and jumped in surprise, clutching his hoe like he was considering wielding it like a weapon to fend me off. After a brief second, his surprise turned to concern and he swept his eyes over me, settling on the stump that was now my left arm.

“Hello friend,” I greeted cheerfully.

“Hello,” he answered warily, creeping his eyes up to look into mine.

I looked terrible and I knew it, I was caked with dirt and grim, not to mention the giant splatters of blood from the rending and tearing of my arm. I could have stopped at some point along the way and used a stream to clean some of it off, but I had kept walking out of a desire for a truly warm and comforting bath. Besides, I was kind of relying on the fact that I looked pathetic to get some sympathy help from people. I had nothing material to offer anyone in return for their help, if I did have a name and life somewhere I could draw from, I still was unable to recall any of it. There were lots of kind people in the world, but kindness doesn’t fill bellies, and sometimes greasing the wheel with pity went farther than appealing to a sense of comradery for their fellow man.

“I hate to be a bother, but as you can see I’m in a bit of tough situation,” I said with a wide smile.

“I can see that, yes.”

I was surprised by how eloquent his speech was, there was very little of the peasant twang to his words. Somehow I knew that most of the peasants in this area had a unique dialect, this pointed to him being an outsider, perhaps an interesting bit of information I could use to my advantage.

“I lost my arm to wolves not so long ago,” I explained while raising the remnant of my arm to show off the fresh wounds where it was knit together, “and I have no one to turn to. If I may even just be spared some water warmed over a hearth and a rag to clean up, I would be ever so grateful.”

The man drew his lips into a line like he was planning to turn me away, but instead let out a low sigh and looked to the bag of seedlings he still had yet to plant. It looked like he was about half done with the bag, several crooked rows already completed. It was strange to see someone planting without their dwelling in sight, but perhaps that had something to do with him being an outsider.

“Warm water and a rag is not too much to ask, though I would like it if we could wait for me to finish this planting. I am already behind,” he said tiredly.

“I would imagine, it is a bit late in the season to be starting potatoes, you are going to have to harvest them small before the ground freezes.”

Glancing into the bag, the seedlings looks a bit malformed and sickly, perhaps the rejects from the season that had yet to sell. I would imagine that a store would be grateful to get rid of them at a low price or perhaps the man had liberated them from their destiny in a compost pile.

“So I’ve been told,” he said with a strained expression as he turned his attention back to digging the row a bit deeper, “but any food is better than no food.”

I nodded, though he was not looking up to notice. “That is very true my friend, is the land producing badly this year?”

He let out a rattling laugh. “I do not think so, it is my luck that is bad.” His voice dripped with bitterness.

“I know something of bad luck myself, as is obvious, seems we have that much in common.”

“I suppose,” he grunted, reaching back for a seedling and dropping it into the groove he had created.

“Your rows are a bit close together for potatoes, it will make walking between them for tending much harder later,” I offered as a suggestion.

“This is the land I have, I must squeeze as much onto it as I can. If it is difficult for me later, that is fine, the more potatoes I can harvest later, the better. Perhaps next season will be better and I can worry about the proper way of doing things.”

“I see, that makes a lot of sense.”

I had a lot of questions, but I didn’t want to get too invasive just yet about his situation. It was obvious he was struggling and perhaps did not have a lot of experience with farming, though that did beg the question of what a man of his age was doing turning to farming for the first time in his life. He seemed to be about middle age, so surely a peasant should know well by then the best methods to farm.

“Thank you for your suggestion,” he said, straightening his back before reaching for more seedlings. “I don’t mean to sound snippy when you’re just trying to help. I am just in perhaps not the best mood at the moment.” As if to provide evidence for his claim, his stomach growled loudly, a deep, guttural sound of emptiness. “Times have been tough.”

“I will not interrupt you any further then, though if you’ll allow me I will hand you seedlings while you hoe. Perhaps that will speed up your work for the day.”

He looked at me with an sympathetic smile, glancing at the stump of my arm like he was about to protest having someone so injured do anything, but ultimately nodded his agreement. The work would go much faster with three hands at work and that would benefit us both.

We worked until just about an hour before sunset in silence. Either he was not much for conversation or was caught up in his own thoughts, either way I did not particularly mind, I had my own thinking to do. I had run over the past few days of my life over and over again trying to come up with any signs of who I was. Obviously I was some sort of magic user, that part was obvious, but anything else was a complete mystery. I assumed that I would have had to be trained and experienced by how naturally magic flowed through me, though I did not necessarily feel like I had been trained to be some kind of weapon. It seemed I felt most closely aligned to practical applications like healing and growth. On my walk I had played around with using magic inside of me to help heal some of my torn muscles and injuries as well as trying to influence the plants around me as I passed. I had been delighted to see that my magic did extend outside of myself and I could do things like influence the bud of a flower to unfurl from its tight slumber. Perhaps I had been some sort of healer, that would be a great use of my power, though that made no sense for why I would have been snuck into the castle I had awoken in or why my memory would have been erased. While it did provide some insight and a possible answer, it also opened up a whole new line of unanswered questions.

“That is the last one,” the man said gruffly, wiping the dripping sweat from his brow. “You have been a true friend in helping me.”

“Of course, it is only fair since you have so graciously offered to help me,” I replied.

He nodded and gathered the empty sack that I offered out to him. “Still, it is obvious you have been through much and in better times I would have insisted you come back with me right away, but I must get as much growth out of these as I can, every day I delay is another day before my family can eat.”

The man fell silent, a distant look in his eye. It seemed like he might want to talk, but did not want to unload his burden on a stranger.

“I understand, let us start back for your home and we can chat about our woes to each other. Sometimes things seem better when we can discuss them with a sympathetic ear.”

I clapped him on the back and at the same time sent out a tendril of my will to snake behind him, wriggling through the soil to the very first row that the man had planted. With my magic I encouraged the sprouts to suck up nutrients from the soil and grow, stretching their stunted leaves to their maximum and deepening their sickly verdant color. I did not want to cause an outright miracle and raise suspicions, but I did want to give the man a bit of hope that his future may look brighter soon.

“Ah look, see, your potatoes already look well,” I said, pointing to the enhanced row as we walked past.

His eyes went wide and he half-ran over to the row, crouching down to get a closer look like he was afraid that it would turn out to just be some sort of optical illusion. He looked back to me with wonder on his face, his hands gesturing to the sprouts that were almost big enough to be considered proper plants.

“Must be wonderful soil,” I commented with a smile, “you have done well picking this land for planting.”

“I didn’t pick anything, it was just what was left. I think they let me rent it out of pity and they assumed nothing would grow here.” His voice was full of amazement, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Well I suppose they were wrong. I would suggest not saying a word to them less they decide to rethink the rent.”

The man stood up again on shaky legs and nodded quickly. “Of course, not breathing a word of this at all. If the other plants take this well…” He looked out over his tiny field with hope on his face. “Maybe we will be okay.”

“Luck is on your side this day, come, they will not grow faster by staring at them.”

It took a moment for him to come away from them and set off on the path for his home. Until they were too far away to be anything more than tiny dots on the landscape he kept looking back like he hoped to see more noticeable growth. Once we were out of range for him to reasonably tell, I sent my will again and encouraged the others, but I did not have much magical will left to grow them to the same extent. Though I felt like my potential was high, my body was tired and I desperately needed rest and a meal to replenish, however it would be enough to provide him with a pleasant surprise when he next went back to check on his field.

“So what is your story?” I asked when his attention could no longer be on the seedlings. “You do not sound like the other farmers in this area. In fact, you sound like you’re not from this area at all.”

“That’s because I was not a farmer at all until a couple months ago,” he grumbled. “I was a tailor in the city, and had a decent little business. Was all I knew how to do.”

“A tailor turned farmer? This promises to be an interesting story.”

“Interesting,” he snorted, “try tragic. I have had to uproot my family and take them away from all the luxuries they have ever known. Why my wife has stayed by my side I still do not understand. She should have left me and found comfort in another man with better prospects.”

“Love does not care where they hang their head at night, they are simply content for it to be next to their lover.”

“Easily spoken, hard in practice. She deserves to be back in the city in our comfortable bed with the silky pillows. Now she sleeps on the floor next to me clutching our baby to her breast. It is no way for a woman of her caliber to be living, but I have not been able to convince her yet to leave and seek a better life for her and our son.”

“How did this all come to happen?” I asked.

“My father had owned the shop before me,” he explained. “He had worked as an apprentice to a master tailor and honed his craft enough to purchase the building and set up his business before I was even born. I was raised learning the trade and how to keep the books, he was the smartest man I’ve ever known and amazing at what he did. When he died, he left me everything and I picked up exactly where he left off. For over a decade I have run the shop on my own and never once has the books run in the red and I’m certain my father never did either. Yet, the Church appeared on my doorstep a few months ago demanding payment for a debt my father apparently incurred when I was a small child. I tried to tell them that it made no sense, that I knew the books had always been in the positive and they called me naive, that my father had a gambling problem and they had helped him pay off his debts and been kind enough not to collect until now.”

“That sounds just a bit suspicious,” I commented.

There was something about the Church that rang as important in my mind, like I should know something about them, but my memories were still annoyingly blank. Perhaps something in my past was connected to them, I would have to look into it when I had a chance.

“Just a bit?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “It is a lie, I am certain of it. My father never so much as wandered to a pub except on special occasions, there is no way he managed to secretly gamble away that much money and keep it hidden from me all this time. What was I to do though? No matter how many ways I told them it was not possible, they only pushed harder, until they told me that they would have my business and money and brought the law into it. One day they showed up again at my door with their soldiers and demanded I leave my home that instant and I was in no position to argue with weapons. I was given just an hour or so to pack up a few meager possessions and walk out with what I could with my wife and child.”

I shook my head and gave a distasteful sigh. “They just cast a man and his family onto the street?”

“They offered for us to have free lodging with the church if we agreed to work the field for them as farmers, but at that point I did not want to have anything more to do with them. It felt too much like they were destroying my business and life for the express purpose of getting two free laborers out of it under the guise of doing us some kind of favor. I could not stomach the idea, though perhaps I should if my family would have proper beds to sleep in.”

The man went quiet until he pointed out a small shack off to the side of the field we had been skirting, set against a small copse of trees.

“That is our new home, it is not much but it will do for now. We have been lucky that a few people have been kind enough to let us stay there for free until we can work out how to earn our keep. I think it was just a storage shed before for the main house.”

Indeed the structure seemed to have seen much better days compared to the large dwelling several yards away. Neither building looked very well taken care of, which meant they were getting help from people just barely in a better situation than them. I truly felt sorry for the man and his plight, I felt a sort of kinship for him, we were both thrust into a world we didn’t understand while ill prepared and reeling from all the changes.

“Hello darling,” said a woman from the doorway when we approached.

Her face was smudged with dirty and she too was wearing clothing that hung from her frame too loosely. She held a pudgy baby to her breast, bouncing it up and down to soothe it. It looked like what food they could get was going directly to taking care of the child.

“Who is this?” she asked with a concerned look on her face.

“I am… a friend,” I said. I still hadn’t figured out my name or decided on one that felt right just yet. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to spare some warm water and a rag so that I might get cleaned up.”

“Oh of course, please come in.”

The woman held the door open wide for the two of us to enter, leaning forward to give her husband a peck on the cheek as he passed.

“Let me get a pot on the fire, Marcus dear, will you go fetch some water?”

Her husband nodded, grabbing a dilapidated bucket from next to the door and then leaving me alone with his wife. The inside of the shack left much to be desired and besides the small fire pit and strewn hay in the corner, there wasn’t much else in the home. A few beaten up kitchen utensils sat by the fire with a cast iron pot as the only objects to fill the space. The woman lifted the pot towards the smoldering coals of the fire with one hand while trying to balance the baby still feeding at her breast.

“Oh excuse me, let me help you,” I said, jumping into action to take the pot from her. It was difficult to wield with just one hand, but it was much easier for me than for her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “I’m not as strong as I used to be.”

“You must be strong, you are raising a healthy child.”

She smiled and looked down to the child. “He is still healthy, I am grateful for that.”

“And that is what truly matters.”

I settled the pot on the coals and looked around for the wood pile. I found it tucked next to the sleeping area and grabbed a handful of the smaller twigs and sticks to feed to the coals to stoke the flames.

“Oh I should be doing that,” she said, “you are injured.”

“I am well enough,” I insisted, “it has been a little while since my injury.”

She stared at my arm, assessing if she should feel guilty or not.

“Truly, I am fine, do not worry about me. A bit of a wash and you will see it is not as bad as it looks.”

It was not lost on me that I had been planning to get as much as I could out of these people by making them pity me and it seemed like they were much more worthy of my pity instead.

The man I now knew was named Marcus returned and poured the water into the pot, then squatted next to the fire and leaned back so he could rest his weight against the shack wall.

“Is there anything to eat?” he asked in a tired voice.

“Patty gave us some scraps today, some bits of carrot, onion, and potato, I was planning on making some soup.”

“It is a lucky day then,” the man said with a soft smile on his face, then turned to me. “It is not much, but you are welcome to some when it is made.”

My stomach felt empty again, having processed what was left of the fruit long ago, but I did not think I would be able to take any food from their mouths.

“No need, I ate before I stumbled upon you, don’t worry about me. A good wash is all I will need and then I can leave to figure out a place to sleep for the evening.”

“You are welcome to sleep here, in fact I insist, you look like you are in need of a warm place to sleep,” the wife offered.

I had not been able to sleep with a roof over my head since I had awakened and I was tired of having to sleep shallowly, afraid that something might sneak up on me in the open. Still, I didn’t like the idea of cramping their small space even further. They already were suffering enough, it felt wrong to do anything that might add to it.

“It is the least I can do for you helping with the planting,” the man said, picking up that I felt torn.

“Alright, I will stay here tonight,” I agreed.