It is late in the afternoon and Bae is sitting by the roadside. He is tired and lightheaded. He is also angry at himself. They left the town not long ago, but before they'd gone far down the road, he felt his feet getting heavier and heavier and his head started to ache. Bae tried to force his body to keep up with Papa's pace, which wasn't that fast, anyway, but after a little while, the earth underneath his feet started to sway. Papa noticed, made him sit down and drink a little bit of water and cooled down the back of his neck. Then he decided to convince one of the cart drivers leaving town to give Bae a ride.

He has been trying to do so for a while now. Most of the men cast a look at Papa's staff and spur on their horses. One or two have slowed down their carts, listened to Papa, looked at Bae and continued without a second glance. Papa has been walking up and down the road, his travelling bag by his side, their purchases tied to his back, trying to hail one of the many carts that leave town, and is now walking with a heavy limp. His face is covered in dust. There are two deep lines between his brows. He comes closer and goes away, comes closer and goes away, talking to the men that drive the carts.

Bae cannot listen to what he is saying. He doesn't need to, anyway. He can see Papa's worried glances at him, his hand pointing towards him and his raised eyebrows. He can guess Papa's words. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like that Papa feels he has to plead with the drivers to give him a ride. But he has tried to walk, and has only succeeded in standing up for a few seconds before he has started seeing everything in a greenish tint, and has been forced to sit down, under the force of Papa's scowl.

Now, Papa is coming close again, walking alongside another cart. The man driving this one is beefy and huge. He has a grey beard and a deep frown. He looked at Bae when Papa first got close to him, but is now staring ahead. At any minute, he will urge his horse on, and will overtake them in a cloud of dust. Papa is hurrying alongside the cart, talking urgently.

"... pay you. I have good coin. It's just my boy you'll carry. He is a small lad. Weighs almost nothing..."

The driver looks at Papa, then back at the road.

"I'll walk all the way. I won't slow you down. I've made this trip many times, you see, but my lad..."

The reins on the back of the horse are slack, and the animal slows down. Now they have almost reached Bae. The driver looks at Papa once again, doubtfully, and Papa redoubles his efforts.

"I won't walk beside you. I'll be a few paces behind you. It's just my boy you'll carry. He weighs almost nothing, sir... And I will pay, I have good coin, honestly."

Bae cringes at Papa calling the driver "sir". Or perhaps he cringes because Papa feels the need to imply no one will notice the driver will be doing him, a cripple, a favour. Bae feels sicker now. When the driver goes past them, he will stand up and tell Papa he can continue. He will walk all the way back to their village. He'll crawl, if the has to, no matter if he faints trying. Papa shouldn't have to beg.

"Here, let me show you," says Papa, putting two fingers inside the leather pouch. But he hasn't retrieved his money when the driver pulls on the reins and comes to a stop. He gives a sharp nod to Bae.

"Get on the back, lad," he says.

Bae gets to his feet, and feels one of Papa's hands on his back, giving him an encouraging push.

"Thank you, thank you so much," Papa breathes. He goes along with Bae, helps him climb on the back, and hurries towards the bundle of purchases that was at Bae's feet. He swings the bundle on his back.

"Thank you, sir. You go along, now. I'll follow."

Bae waits for the driver to slap the reins over the back of the horse and grabs the side of the cart to steady himself, but nothing happens. The driver stares hard at Papa.

"You're not going to carry all that on your back, are you?" The sentence is formulated as a question, but the tone is that of an affirmation. "The cart is almost empty. Put it on the back."

Papa stands still, blinks. The driver just looks at him, calmly. It takes Papa a few seconds to react.

"Thank... thank you."

He unties both bundles from his back and casts them over the side of the cart. He grabs his walking stick a little higher, with an open palm signs the driver he can continue. The driver contemplates him, thoughtfully, not giving the slightest sign he intends to make his horse move. Papa looks down, blinks hard in confusion.

"Climb up," says the driver with a nod towards the side of the seat he's sitting in.

Papa looks up, blinks harder.

"Wha... What?" He asks.

The driver nods again.

"Come on. I find myself in need of company."

Papa bites his lower lip. His chin is trembling.

"But you can't... Can't be serious," he protests.

"I'm very serious," counters the driver.

Bae feels his throat clench painfully.

Papa hurries around the cart, puts his staff on the back and grabs the side of the seat to climb up. The driver offers him a hand, pulls him up on the front seat. Papa looks at the driver as if he doesn't believe he is there. The driver looks ahead, urges his horse on, and they go on their way. Bae grabs the side of the cart, feeling slightly dizzy again. He breathes in, deeply, closes his eyes, sways to the rhythm of the cart.

"You'd better tell your lad to lie down, before he falls off."

The driver's deep, rumbling voice wakes him. Bae hadn't noticed he had been nodding off.

"Bae. Come on, son. You can lay your head here."

Bae looks back. Papa has turned around on the seat and is patting the bundles that hold their purchases. Bae scoots back, lies down on his side. Papa's fingers brush his hair, and Bae relaxes. The bottom of the wagon is hard, but his head lies on something soft (maybe his new cloak), and the swaying motion of the wagon is lulling.

"How old is he?" comes the rumbling voice of the driver.

"He's nine. It's the first time he's come to the market."

"It's quite a distance for such a young lad," comments the driver in a lower voice.

"Aye," Papa's voice has also gone down a notch. "I didn't have anyone to leave him with..." he trails off.

The driver hums in assent and they both fall silent.

Bae is once again aware of the rumbling of the cart, the tinkling of the horse's hooves. He dozes, sometimes waking up at unexpected noises: a birdcall, a woman's voice calling on someone on the road, his father's and the driver's voices.

"Still a long walk..."

"Aye..."

Bae listens. Listens to the rumbling of the wheels.

"Almost never come this way..."

Bae goes under the soothing rhythm of the horse's hooves.

"... was my cousin. He was also drafted to the wars..."

"Did he fare well?"

"... came back without a hand."

Papa draws in a sharp breath, and Bae wakens up a little bit, sensing the dread, the tension he's so familiar with, but has never given words to. Then the tinkling of the harnesses lulls him to sleep again. He wakes up to a rumbling.

"...frightened. Not that I blamed him."

It's just the voice of the driver. Bae goes under, under a blanket of peacefulness.

"You can't stay in a place you can't stand."

"... not so bad, anyway."

A lifetime later, Papa's hand is shaking his shoulder, and his voice wakes him up.

"Waken up, son. We're home, Bae."

Bae sits up, rubs his eyes.

The voice of the driver wakes him all the way.

"I won't take your money, Rumpelstiltskin."

"Please, you've been so kind..."

"I'm glad for the company. Now take care of your boy."

There's a brief silence, and Bae starts climbing off the cart. Suddenly, Papa appears at the back. Bae pushes their bundles towards the back and Papa unloads them. He has let his hair fall across his face, and in the twilight Bae cannot see Papa's expression clearly.

Papa gets both bundles on his back, pushes Bae towards the front of the cart.

"Say thank you, Bae."

"Thank you," Bae pipes up.

"Thank you, Othbert," Papa says. His voice rings clear and loud in the stillness of the evening.

"You're welcome, Rumpelstiltskin. May we meet again."

Papa looks up, so the hair falls off his face. His eyes are bright, but there's a calmness washing over his features Bae has not seen in a long time.

Then the driver slaps the reins and the horse tugs forward. When he leaves in a cloud of dust, Bae realises they're in front of their house. Papa's hand lands on the nape of his neck.

"Come on, son. Let's have some bread, and tea, and then to bed."

The prospect sounds heavenly. Bae smothers a yawn and follows his father inside their house.