Could the tavernkeeper really be right about the woodsman? I mean, it's not impossible, especially since he really seems like he knows what he's doing whenever we happen to see him.

"Wirt, I think that we should get moving if we want to arrive at Adelaide's by... what would it be, Friday?" I ask him. I had made the strange realization that there weren't really any calendars in the unknown.

"Uh, I don't know, (y/n). I haven't seen a single calendar since we arrived, and who knows where our phones went." Wirt had a puzzled look on his face, thus confirming that there was basically no way to even tell what year it was, let alone what time it was.

"Heyo! Have any of you seen Beatrice?" Greg waddles over, still holding a big loaf of bread in his arms.

"Is she not outside still?" I ask him. Just then, a massive yell emerged from the forest.

"Beatrice!" Wirt yells, grabbing me by the hand and Greg by the wrist. He drags us outside, the tavern folk following behind.

"Alright horse, I'm just going to pretend that I can ride you." He mumbles, jumping onto the horse, Greg and I doing so as well.

"Hey, you aren't my owner!" The horse says, looking back at Wirt.

"Yeah, um, you're a talking horse though! You're basically your own person, you don't need an owner."

The horse thinks for a moment, before replying,

"I guess you're right! My name is Fred by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Fred." I smile. "Now let's go save Beatrice!"

And with that, Fred takes off.