There were a few more days of relative peace. We would go fishing early in the morning, and Gregory would leave with the excess catch, to travel into town and trade. He would often come back with some local stories and talk to share. Rumors of what the Baron was doing, or what monsters were recently hunted by the Guild. Usually all out of date considering how infrequent traders were with the area, and how little travel the locals did. Though he hardly seemed to care about making money, Gregory did seem interested in what that shell might be able to bring him, and he told me another traveling merchant was due to come by in a few weeks. Or, at least by his best guess, there was suppose to be one. They often bought things like this from him when they came through, and with the earnings he could barter for some new supplies. Now that I was helping him, he seemed excited to get new fishing equipment. Still, he was often gone, and in Gregory's absence, I would spend my time in the clearing behind the small shack of a home. [Identify] had been a decent helper for finding potentially useful things, and I wasn't much interested in doing nothing at all. I felt that, at least familiarizing myself with the world would benefit me. Growing my foundation of general knowledge was a must. At first, though, I had wanted to return to my practice sessions. I wanted to get strong enough to feel confident in my abilities, but just knowing what other people were capable of in this world made that incredibly difficult. Adding to this, there was a gnawing feeling of worry, that I hadn't ranked up any of my attributes in quite some time. I had wondered why that was. Was it my methods of training? I knew that I'd ranked up plenty by training with the spear. The work in the camp had helped, so long as I put the effort in. After giving it more thought, I eventually drew the conclusion that I wasn't pushing myself enough. I was living, quite honestly, in a leisurely way, here. I went fishing, but I didn't row- and I certainly didn't carry the boat. I swam a bit, and helped pull up baskets, but compared to life at the Mercenary camp, this was like a five star hotel. If I wanted to start ranking my attributes again, I knew that I needed to fall back into routine. Or, so I logically assumed. But, of course, I didn't have a spear. Neither, it turned out, did Gregory. In fact, there wasn't much of anything that even resembled a spear. But, I found that the old fisherman did have an ax, and I still had my dagger. So, between the two of those, I took the time to pick out the perfect sapling, and cut it down. Then, patiently, I whittled the staff to fashion a relatively decent approximation to the spears I'd been trained with. Though, a bit shorter, on account of the lack of blade. Then, a bit shorter still, when it turned out a little crooked. I took my time with the would-be weapon, shaving off the bark. Sitting on a wooden stump-bench, with the ocean view and warm wind. Gregory really had a nice life here. It was difficult, I had to imagine. The old man seemed almost impossibly-upbeat, when it came to hardship. Optimism like that was a rarity in any world, but the way of life he'd carved out and maintained was also far from a nightmare. Especially, for such a violent and dangerous place. In that moment, I wondered if maybe staying would be the right thing to do. Instead of risking life and limb, I could stop. Right here, I thought. Right here, on this bench. Was that what I wanted? Stopping to inspect my new walking staff, I realized I wasn't sure. My whole life before this- before all of this, that is to say: on Earth. Life then had been confined to a little box. The beaten track, of what had been expected of me. To complete school, to work, to work some more. That's all I'd ever done, and I'd been good at it. But, that was just... safe. Safe... wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what I really desired out of life. I had just done it, as the other options seemed worse, or at least, far more difficult for me. But was I really happy with just playing it safe? After all this? I mean, there was a whole world, laid out before me. The ocean stretched on, with mysteries aplenty. I'd seen things, witnessed things, I didn't even claim to somewhat comprehend. And, while maybe this wasn't quite the opportunity of a lifetime I had originally been promised when arriving in the castle, that didn't mean it wasn't an opportunity. That afternoon, I waited for Gregory to return from town. My thoughts were, finally in order. When he returned, I decided, I was going to talk to him about leaving. It might be tough for him to see me go. Heck, it might be even tougher for me, but I'd decided. I would come clean and tell him everything, from the start. Then, as long as that went well, I'd ask for his help in making a plan. For what I could do, for where I might be able to go. I'd get everthing out in the open, and I wouldn't put it off any longer. That was that. Yes. Only... That night, Gregory didn't come back. The next morning, either. By mid-afternoon, I realized that something had to have been wrong. One night, I could believe. With that man's drinking habits, it was possible he'd gotten a good deal on the shell, and had opted to stay in town for the evening. But he always woke up at the crack of dawn, like clockwork, and he should have long been back by now. That afternoon, against my better judgement, I followed the trail he'd taken. The one which lead along the cliffs, before turning in towards the town. Newly made walking staff in hand, it was a winding, meandering thing, of dirt, mud, and logs thrown atop the worst portions, as tall grass rose along either side. Even walking along the hour or two towards the town, I fought with my self-preservation until it won out. Stopping far short of the town, itself, just close enough to see the chimney smoke and the tallest houses, I turned back. Having found nothing, and not yet willing to let my status become more widely known, I decided that this was far enough. I hadn't found Gregory, so it was possible he was still in town, maybe drinking, maybe trading. While I was worried, I knew it could be nothing. Of course, at that thought: it was then I stopped. Off to the side of the trail, a familiar wicker basket lay quietly, just barely out of the grass. Sitting at an entrance, of sorts, to a long tunnel of crushed and broken stalks. Smeared with red.