The wagon rolled smoothly along the winding dirt path, its wheels gliding more easily than they had any right to. The divine reinforcement from Terran's blessing still shimmered faintly along the grain of the wood — a soft green glow that faded and returned with each bump of the road.
Claribel sat comfortably on the driver's bench, the reins held loosely in her gloved hands. A cool breeze carried the smell of pine and damp soil, mingled with the faint earthy sweetness of the potatoes filling her wagon.
Keith flicked an ear back. "You're awfully quiet, Claribel." His deep, mellow voice rumbled like a tired farmhand after a long day's work.
Sarah glanced over, her tone lighter, almost teasing. "She's probably daydreaming about that farmer's cooking again."
Claribel laughed softly, shaking her head. "I might be," she admitted, eyes distant. "I haven't eaten food like that in years. Not since before the shortages started."
Keith snorted. "Wasn't just the food, though, was it? Felt like mana itself was in that stew. I swear my legs haven't felt this light in months."
Sarah nodded, her tail swishing lazily. "It's more than food — it's blessing. The kind that feeds soul and stomach both. I think that human's got something divine in his touch."
Claribel smiled faintly at that, her gaze drifting to the pine-etched mark glowing softly on her hand. "He does. I think the gods favor him… or maybe he's just one of those rare souls who makes the world better just by living."
They passed beneath a stretch of tall trees, sunlight breaking through the canopy in dancing shafts. Birds sang from high above, and for the first time in many weeks, the air felt peaceful.
Sarah slowed her pace slightly, ears twitching. "It's been a long while since the roads felt safe like this."
Claribel nodded. "Too long. Bandits don't care that villages are starving. They see food as coin."
Keith grumbled. "If any try to take ours, they'll regret it." His wooden harness creaked as he flexed.
Claribel chuckled. "I'm counting on you, big guy. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."
They walked on in companionable silence for a while, the path sloping gently downward as the forest began to thin. The scent of wildflowers mixed with the earthy aroma of fresh-turned soil — signs of farmland.
Sarah broke the quiet. "You really think these potatoes will help the villages?"
Claribel nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "They will. Even the common ones he grows feel… cleaner, stronger. People have been eating spoiled grains and half-rotten roots lately. Some even go an entire day with out eating to ration." This (she gestured back at the wagon)—this might save a few lives."
Keith gave a satisfied grunt. "Then it's worth the miles."
Claribel smiled. "It always is."
By midday, the first signs of civilization appeared — smoke curling lazily from thatched rooftops, a few wandering goats grazing near a wooden fence, and a weather-worn sign reading Elmbrook.
Sarah's ears perked. "First stop,Claribel."
Claribel guided the wagon toward the small settlement, her heart tightening at the sight of thin faces and weary eyes. Villagers paused their chores to stare at the incoming wagon, murmuring quietly.
A young boy darted forward, barefoot and curious. "Miss! Are you selling food?"
Claribel smiled warmly. "I am. Fresh potatoes from the western fields — and plenty to share."
His eyes widened with hope. "Real potatoes?"
Keith huffed in amusement. "The best you'll ever taste, little one."
The boy blinked, jaw dropping at the talking donkey. Claribel couldn't help but laugh. "Don't worry, they're friendly."
As she pulled the wagon into the village square, people began to gather — drawn by the smell of clean produce and the faint glimmer of divine energy radiating from the cargo.
Claribel hopped down from the bench, her pine-marked hand gleaming faintly as she reached for a sack. "Alright, everyone," she said kindly. "Let's make sure everyone eats today."
And as she began to hand out the first warm, blessed potatoes, the villagers' eyes brightened — not just from hunger, but from something deeper. Hope.
The covenant's promise was already beginning to take root.