The ealdorman had thanked him.

After a long bath. And a very long sleep, there had been a knock at Henoch’s door. And the leader of the village stood in front of the door.

He stared at him with a frown. Told him they had found the bodies of the drowner’s.

Told him the village owed him.

…

There was a nod from both sides.

The frown never left the ealdorman’s face.

And they parted ways.

It was… alright. He hadn’t done it for the thanks. He just wanted his village to be alright.

But… the village became… cold.

They never truly accepted him, reading books and farming at the same time... Always a bit on the outside.

But now… the tavern rounds were not open to him anymore. They didn’t say anything. They nodded at him. Talks stopped.

He heard them talk about almost human bodies, chopped up and found in the woods. The kids ran from him…

It… he… he did not regret it. He had wanted them to be safe.

But nothing changed. Except them excluding Henoch.

And people getting killed… less.

After winter… Henoch had packed his belongings.

The trader looked at him for a long moment. Then said: “Well, the best one might be a witcher, would it not?”

He crouched on the floor, putting down his bag, scratching his head.

“Certainly. You possibly met one on the way here? I did give another trader a note to post on the board next village over, so…”

He opened the bag and rummaged in it, looking between Henoch and the bag: “Oh, I saw, yes, Drowner infestation, as you said, but no, unfortunately. There aren’t many witcher’s left”

He looked sorry, but seemed to have found what he was looking for. He kept it in the bag, though.

“I… guessed so. But… someone does need to do something. Witcher or no. It’s… well… the Drowner’s multiply,”  talking to a stranger wasn’t that bad. This one had travelled all the way over, after all.

“So, my valued customer wishes to do something against his infestation?”

Henoch raised a brow. An odd thing to say.

“If so, maybe I can be of service, after all” he took out a pouch and pulled a few things out: “Pwdered pearl, Allspice. Ducal Water… I suppose you own Salpeter already?”

“… I… do?”

“Ah, very good. Well, see, one of the Witchers did buy from me once… and he had no funds, so… he did hand me the recipe to get back against the water creatures… makes them all freeze up when mixed.

The other would be an oil. Good against necrophages. Drowners are of such a making, if I remember right. Goes right through them”

He pulled the little flask out and held it against the sun. Red, viscous liquid.

“Mmmh… tallow and Blowball… not at all complicated, but it works,” he half-shrugged at it, “would make such an endeavour easier, I believe.  Don’t deal in weapons, but anything sharp might work?”

Henoch stared a bit more. This… sounded very… very obscure.

“Travelling isn’t always easy. I’d like to keep the customers I have, really,” he slanted his head: “The pearl and oil I can part with... if not used soon, they will expire… But I do need a bit of food for my travels. I really am only passing through”

This didn’t sound any less suspicious, but…

The stranger pushed his hat up and smiled again. It sounded made up. It really did.

But so did most things. And not having those things didn’t make his job easier.

… he inclined his head: “… I have some potatoes left over from winter.

“Wonderfu!” He said. And shouldered his backpack again.

It was the strangest meeting.

But the trader followed him. And left both the ingredients there… and left with the potatoes.

As if he had never been there.

Henoch looked down.