Cot Blocked

"32 gold per stack!"

I snatched the notice from the Ulaid town board and squinted at the crumpled parchment in my hand. Fifteen full stacks of cotton. In Ardbog, our soggy neighbor to the east. Enough to craft a hundred... nay, ten... hrm... maybe one or two decorated chests under the new guild standard.

But here I stand at the Petra in last night's clothes, trying to remember last night's party, and whether I fell asleep in the traveler tent or passed out in the grass. Oh! And I'm encumbered by... things (holds up odd trinket to inspect)... that I vaguely recall purchasing from... somewhere. Thankfully, I can store them in the Petra chest then tighten the laces in my spirit strides and I'll be on my way! To a fiber fortune!

Oof. This chest is crammed full of surplus and party supplies. Bread, beer, grapes. Things to smell. Things to sell. I can fit a bit more in this satchel here... and oh, in this pocket here... I'll just have to drop all of this off at home on my way to Ardbog. The Petra chest creaks as I shove things around and lean against the lid to close it.

A chorus of geese honks at me as I start sprinting down the road, a one-man pots-and-pans band leading a parade of one toward the rising sun. Blazing a trail of spirit stardust behind me.

The road curves around the enchanted lake home that reveals more details the longer one gazes upon it. No time for that now!

Past the decaying mercantile that used to have a climbing obstacle course. Around the bend where I used to buy war bread from a bakery whose windmills stopped spinning long ago. Across the road from the castle whose owner suddenly disappeared. I catch my breath near the spot where dandelions dotted the yard of a barracks, also gone... the soldiers moved on to other tales of glory.

And then the meadow comes into view.

The meadow where we built a cabin, then a catio, then a casino along the riverbank. All long gone now. After we moved across the bridge, it's been a hobby of mine to walk here. I like to imagine that one of our cats who passed meets me here to chase geese together. Honk honk honkkkk hkkkk hoonkkkkkk!

I rest my arms against the cool stone bridge railing and listen. The wind carries voices from a faraway time. I smile as we put groceries away in our cozy cabin. I softly hum lyrics from a bard's song, something about September's sun and October's rust. The warmth and crackle of a campfire washes over my thoughts as we snuggle away the autumn's evening chill.

Homesteads come and go in these fields. The newest, a wood cabin with lavender dreams, has replaced wattle and daub with stone walls, almost overnight. It's the most permanence I've seen since we were in the same spot. The same campfire. The same bend in the road that invites people in a hurry to stop and linger... Plenty of room for everyone...

Honk honk honkkkk hkkkk hoonkkkkkk!

The cotton! How long have I been standing here? Raisins. Spirit stride. Stamina burst. Cooldown hat... across the bridge I go, go, go! Arms out and waving like a silly goose. Fly, you fool!

A startled boar snorts and squeals behind me, but the porch planks rattle as I arrive home. Dump chest here? Or dump chest a few floors up? Or put things away properly a few floors above that? No time for that now!

I look at the notice again. The cotton cart isn't far from the Ardbog Petra. I'll just close my eyes and make a wish...

The stardust places me next to the travel stone, which hums its own strange song.

I quickly check the market board. Gone! I'm too late! But wait-- sometimes things don't show up on the board. I've been to those stalls before, they're not far... let's go check in person.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I check the Ardbog Petra chest first. There's room, but the organization feels strange. Can't quite put my finger on it...

I dash southwest toward the riverbank, hop up on jutting rock, do a double sideways twirl in the air, and-- splash! I bubble up on the other side and climb out of the river. I dash through the house with the odd alleyway running through the center of it, like I've done several times before. Most recently... ?

Then I tiptoe dance through squishy clay fields and croaking frog song, steering clear of a nearby fort. There it is! A small boardwalk of merchant tents in the middle of nowhere, celebrating the festival of life.

The stalls, their purple drapes so familiar... like a night circus swirling in a dream. I've been here so many times. The cotton is gone, and in its place... stacks of bougainvillea! Cheers to you, mystery cotton buyer, but also... cheers to me. Not a wasted trip after all.

Not... wasted... In a sober moment of clarity, I realize the last time I was here.

Last night.

Was it me?