It had taken a surprisingly short time for the family to gather up all of their things and load it into a wagon. Tristain hadn't even noticed them loading goods into the wagon when the man who hired him - who was named, inventively, Scarf - had brought it up, but they had probably already been put on for when Scarf had found someone who would take the job. It would make sense - it was far easier to fit four people in around things, than it would have been to fit the traveling goods in if the family had already put its meager belongings into the wagon.

Meager described more than just the family’s possessions. The wagon itself looked rickety, like an old cart that had had a hastily built cover thrown on top - the wood was splintered and torn in places, and the cover of the wagon was more patch than it was whole cloth. The ox slowly dragging the cart along behind it didn't look to be in good shape either, its coat matted and filthy.

In all, it looked like the family was on the verge of being destitute, which might be why they were traveling to a different town, even with the threat of bandits in their way. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. Besides, it wasn't Tristain’s place to judge them. He himself didn't even have a place to call home at the moment, and all of his belongings were either worn, or in the ruck sack tied to his hip. And the kids and wife looked healthy and well fed, even if Scarf himself looked more like a wasted vagabond - he was obviously foregoing food for himself, so his family could eat.

Still, now that the family and their wagon was all packed up, it was time for them to set out. By the time they had rounded up and were heading down the dusty path leading out of the small town, the afternoon sun was bearing down on them, warming the air to an almost uncomfortable point.

The wife and daughters rode inside the wagon, out of view, and Scarf was the sole person riding openly. Tristain strode along beside it, easily keeping pace with the ox as it plodded along the trail. As they made their way along the road, Tristain noted something slightly odd. While his direct employee chattered away at him - apparently he was used to keeping up a running commentary on his daily life, and told it all through that thick accent of his even though Tristain was right beside him, experiencing all the bumps and dips in the road right alongside the cart - the family inside of the wagon was oddly quiet.

He shrugged it off though - they might feel uncomfortable around a total stranger like Tristain. The mercenary wasn't entirely sure, but he thought that girls tended to be a bit shy around strangers. That's what he had noticed growing up, at least - the village boys in whatever town his father and he stopped in would usually include Tristain in their games after only a couple days. The girls though, would almost never approach him before his father decided it was time for them to move on.

This meant to Tristain, without exposure to women outside of the few in the Danse Indomitable, had almost never interacted with girls or women. So these girls being wary of him didn't particularly surprise, or worry the mercenary.