Claribel moved among the villagers with care, her hands lifting a few of the sacks of potatoes from the wagon. "Start with these," she said firmly, handing one to a family of four. "Two big potatoes each. That should tide you over while we sort the rest."
The villagers blinked in surprise at the generosity, but hunger overcame hesitation. They scrambled to their homes, carrying the sacks carefully, while Claribel followed, watching to make sure everyone made it safely.
By mid-morning, the entire village was busy at small hearths, boiling potatoes in large clay pots. Steam curled into the chilly air, and the comforting scent of cooked food drifted through the village lanes. Children laughed softly as they waited, and adults exchanged smiles they hadn't dared in weeks.
Claribel leaned against the wagon, letting Keith and Sarah stretch their legs nearby. "This is just to get them through today," she murmured. "We can't solve everything at once, but at least we can stop anyone from going hungry right now."
Keith huffed, his deep voice calm and approving. "A solid plan. Short-term needs first. Long-term comes after."
Sarah nodded. "It's the best way. Start with food, then establish trade that's reliable."
Claribel glanced around at the busy villagers, some cutting vegetables to stretch the potatoes, some stirring water for soup. "We need trades they can keep up with. Sacks, simple tools, clay pots, linen, anything they can make or spare. Even coins if that's all they have. Keep it simple. No one can afford fancy luxuries right now."
The donkeys flicked their ears at her, sharing her seriousness. Keith muttered, "Reliable, sustainable. Nothing wasted. That's how you make a village stronger."
Sarah added softly, "And then, when they can produce enough, we can trade for more specialized items — like clay cups, extra blankets, maybe even leather saddles someday."
Claribel smiled faintly. "Exactly. First, food. Then stability. Then growth."
By noon, the villagers had finished boiling the first round of potatoes. They gathered together in small groups to eat, cheeks flushed with warmth and gratitude. Claribel watched them carefully, letting the simple meal give hope.
Once everyone had a few bites, she called them back to the wagon. "Now," she said, "let's talk about trade. What can each of you spare? Tools, linen, small crafts… anything you can give to help us continue this exchange."
The villagers shuffled forward cautiously, hesitant but encouraged by the first full stomachs of the day. Claribel began to take notes, tallying what each family could provide and what they needed in return. Keith and Sarah offered gentle guidance, suggesting fair trades and helping keep the process organized.
"This is how we make it sustainable," Claribel explained. "We start small, but if we keep it honest and consistent, this can last. Your labor and goods will always be valued, and your families will never go hungry again — at least, not while we're here."
The villagers nodded, some eyes glistening. They understood the seriousness in her voice, the weight of responsibility she carried, and the quiet hope behind it.
The first day of simple, practical trade had begun, and with it, the foundation of a longer-term plan to help the villages survive — and eventually thrive.
By mid-morning, Claribel had reached the first village's center, the wagon carefully parked beside the mayor's modest office. Inside, the mayor—a gaunt man with weathered hands and eyes that carried years of hardship—looked at her expectantly.
"I've never seen anyone offer this much food and assistance at once," he said.
Claribel nodded respectfully. "I want this to be sustainable. Not just today, but for weeks and months to come. I propose a formal agreement: we'll supply food, seeds, and occasional tools in exchange for manageable contributions from your villagers. Simple items, small amounts, but regular. That way, the village can thrive without depending entirely on charity."
The mayor leaned back, studying her carefully. "A written agreement, then? A contract?"
"Yes," Claribel said, smiling. "A fair contract. You honor your end, we honor ours. Nothing lost, nothing wasted. Everyone knows what to expect."
They worked together, drafting the agreement in simple terms. Claribel noted who would receive how much food, how often, and what items the villagers could contribute back to the system. By noon, the contract was signed, sealed with the mayor's mark and Claribel's own careful signature.
As the villagers prepared to take the first sacks of potatoes home, Claribel climbed back into the wagon, Keith and Sarah stretching their legs.
"Next village," she said, adjusting the reins. "Let's see how far we can go today."
The road ahead was quiet, the wagon rolling gently along sun-dappled paths. Claribel leaned back, letting herself relax for the first time since leaving Roland's farm.
Keith glanced at her, ears flicking with curiosity. "You've thought a lot about how this should work. I like that. We can learn a lot from you, Claribel."
Sarah chimed in, her voice soft and measured. "With the quality of the food Roland grows, maybe… just maybe… we can ascend. Magic grows stronger when nurtured, and he nurtures well. We could reach tier 3, something no mortal donkey has ever done."
Claribel's eyes widened slightly. "Tier 3? That would be… extraordinary."
Keith's deep chuckle rumbled like distant thunder. "Extraordinary is what we aim for. But we can only do it if we stay careful and consistent. That's why today, we learn. Tomorrow, we push further."
Sarah nuzzled Claribel's shoulder gently. "And the happiness of the villagers, the people we help… it gives us energy too. Encouragement spreads like magic, doesn't it?"
Claribel smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest. "Yes. Let's make sure every stop we make carries that same hope."
The wagon had barely rounded a bend when a sudden shout broke the calm. Three figures leapt from the trees, ragged and hungry bandits wielding crude clubs.
"Hand over the food!" the tallest barked.
Claribel's heart skipped, but Keith and Sarah were already tense, ears flicking forward and hooves planting firmly. The wagons magic silent detached the reins .
The bandits lunged, but they were weak, starving. Keith slammed into the nearest man with a shoulder, knocking him backward with surprising force. Sarah spun, a small flash of magic sparking from her hooves, sending another stumbling into a ditch.
Claribel didn't hesitate. She drew her bo staff, spinning it with practiced precision. The first bandit swung at her—she ducked low and knocked the club out of his hands, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
"Not today," she muttered, striking the next bandit squarely across the chest, sending him toppling.
Within moments, the bandits were disarmed, dirty, and panting, clearly too weak to continue. Keith and Sarah pinned them lightly with their hooves, keeping them from fleeing.
"Go. Get some food and rethink your life," Claribel said, voice firm but calm. She turned to the donkeys, brushing her hands over their backs. "Good work, both of you. That's how we protect the people we care about."
Keith flicked his ears, eyes bright with pride. "That's the power of nourishment and training. We've grown stronger because of it."
Sarah nodded. "And not just us. The villagers we help will grow too, one meal at a time."
Claribel smiled, feeling the weight of her responsibility and the excitement of what was to come. Together, they continued their journey, the road stretching ahead with promise, hope, and the quiet knowledge that the world was a little safer—and a little more magical—for everyone involved.