After our celebratory beer, I scratched Stretch's ears and got a feeling of bliss from him. Chuckling, I asked, "Do you want to stay here for a while to learn your new body, or do you want to go?"

I got a sense of speed and wind in my face from him.

I leaned forward with a grin. "Wait till we reach a tech world with cars. You're gonna love the speed."

He sent me a feeling of confusion.

I stood up and held my hand out to show him the height of a car. "Cars are vehicles like the trailer, but are bigger and faster."

Now, I got a burst of excitement from him.

I laughed. "You're a speed demon, you know that?"

He sent me a feeling of happiness and licked my face, his tail wagging furiously.

As I began to break down the tent, Stretch sent me exasperation and questioning.

I paused, tugging on one of the ropes. "What? I can't leave it here. It's a great tent."

He looked at me, sighed, and shook his head judgmentally, making me laugh again. He sent me a sensation that I didn't understand.

I spread my hands helplessly. "I didn't get that."

Again, he sent me something I couldn't decipher.

I rubbed my temple, frowning. "Maybe try something else. I can't understand what you're trying to say."

He looked thoughtful for a minute, and I felt like something had disappeared. I looked at him with a giant question mark in my mind; I had no idea what he was trying to say.

He looked at me like he was waiting for something. Suddenly, I got it and facepalmed.

I'm an idiot!

I stored the tent without dismantling it. When I summoned it again, it was fully assembled, except for the canopy poles that I had removed. I hugged and patted him. "You are the smartest, the most amazing, the best dog in the universe."

Stretch was smug, his tail held high, but I was mortified and felt my face burn. Suddenly, I remembered the ladder I had carried up the mountain and wanted to hide from embarrassment in a deep, deep hole.

We walked back to the road; this time, I could hop over the stream instead of wetting my boots. "You owe me, you know? I had to carry your sleeping ass to the forest and couldn't jump with you on my shoulders. My boots got all wet."

I got a distinct feeling of 'and...' His communication ability was outstanding.

"Just saying."

I love my awakened dog.

After we reached the road, we kept up the same rhythm as before: one or two rest stops a day, selling a few things, healing whoever needed it. A day and a half later, we reached the last town before the capital. By then, I had started to suspect that all the towns in Shimoor were stamped from the same mold. A main road ran straight through, with shops lined up on either side, smaller streets branching off toward clusters of houses, and fields stretching out in the distance. The bigger towns we passed had followed the same design, just stretched wider, with more houses and more noise, but fewer fields. Or maybe the fields were still there, only harder to notice because of the size of the towns.

This one caught me off guard. Instead of being bigger like the last few, it was smaller, even smaller than the first town I had visited, and it looked like it had given up. The main street screamed of neglect, and every building looked worn and weary. Planks were warped and cracked from the sun, shutters hung crooked on rusty hinges, and the roofs had more gaps than shingles. Dust clung to everything, and the few faded signs that remained were so chipped you could barely make out the lettering. There were fields on the outskirts, but most were overgrown and abandoned. A couple still showed signs of work, but no more than that.

People on the road wanted nothing to do with it. Travelers streamed past without stopping, and more than a few picked up their pace as though the place might stain them if they lingered too long. Walking into town made the reason obvious. The main street stank. The road outside town had horse and mukar droppings too, but in the towns, the roads were always cleaned. Here it was different. The main street was narrow and filthy, covered in piles that no one had bothered to clear. Flies buzzed everywhere, thick clouds of them circling the mounds and drifting into doorways.

When I finally found the inn, it was worse than the street. The windows were smeared with grime, the door sticky to the touch, and the air inside reeked of sour beer and old sweat. The innkeeper looked like he hadn't bathed in years. Grease shone on his hair, his fingernails were black, and his clothes might have been wiped down with the same rag he used on the bar. The chairs in the common room sagged with broken rungs and greasy stains, and I wouldn't have trusted any of the tables to hold more than a cup before collapsing. The thought of lying in one of the beds made my skin crawl. I didn't even want to sit down.

It was late afternoon, so I headed to the general store. It stood on the main street, the only shop with a sign that was still halfway serviceable, and a few people went in and out while I watched. A thin man with a big nose stood behind the counter, his elbows resting on the scarred wood. When I walked in, He lifted his head slowly and looked me up and down twice. "Hello, good sir."

I stepped closer to the counter. "Hello. I was hoping you could help me."

"I will be happy to, for a small compensation." His tone was as dry as sand, and he rubbed his thumb against his fingers in the universal sign for money.

"I'm a traveling merchant and healer. I hope to stay in town for a day or two, heal people, and visit you later to offer my goods, but the inn here looks terrible. Do you know of any other place I can stay?"

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He stared at me in silence, his expression blank. After about ten seconds, it clicked that he wouldn't say a word until I paid him. I slid a copper coin onto the counter.

He snatched it and scowled at me. "Yes, since Barat started drinking, he stopped taking care of his inn."

I turned toward Stretch, who was lying by the doorway, watching us. "Did you hear that? No more beer for you, buddy."

He shot me a wave of outrage through our bond, ears flattening against his head.

"So, is there another place to stay in town?"

The man tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "What language was that? Never heard it."

I forced a casual smile. "I'm from the islands in the south; it's a local dialect. Is there another place to stay in town?"

"There is a widow who rents rooms in her house."

"Can you tell me, please, how to find her?"

Once again, he fixed me with that same waiting look, his fingers tapping on the counter. I sighed and shook my head before pulling out another copper and setting it down. His eyes barely flicked toward it. I placed another beside it, and still he didn't move. Finally, I slid two more coins across the wood. Only then did he give a thin smile and mutter the directions.

It was a two-story house that had seen better days but was not falling apart. Paint flaked from the shutters, and the steps were worn from years of use. A woman was sweeping the front when I walked up. She kept working, but her eyes narrowed as they ran over me.

"Hello."

"What do you want?" she snapped, her broom scraping harder against the step.

I kept my voice friendly despite her rudeness. "I was told you have rooms for rent at the general store. Is there a room available?"

She stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom, staring at me. "Who are you, and what are you doing in this town?"

"I'm a traveling merchant and healer and didn't like the look of the inn."

"From the islands in the south?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Huh?

"How did you know?"

"I heard stories about you from people who stayed here. Can you prove it's you? Where is your dog?" Her eyes stayed fixed on me, full of suspicion.

I glanced around, realizing Stretch had wandered off. Raising my voice, I called for him, and moments later, he bounded back from two houses down, ears perked. Behind him, two children ducked behind a tree, giggling.

She looked from him to me several times before speaking. "You can stay here, but you will do it by my rules. If you step out of line even once, I will throw you out into the street. If you heal in my house, I take half the payment, and I will decide who you heal for free. If you sell in my house, I take half the profit, and you hand over some items without charge. You clean your own room, you don't make noise, and that mutt of yours is not setting a paw inside."

Stretch sent me a feeling of outrage. I had to agree with him. This was one rude lady in one shitty town.

"Thank you for your generosity, madam," I said in a sarcastic tone. "But I will continue on my way." I turned to leave.

She called after me. "My back hurts and I have bad eyes. Heal me before you go."

I turned to her, said, "No," and walked away.

Once we got past the town, I pulled out my bike, Stretch jumped into the trailer, and we continued on our way. I was seething. Her rudeness sat on me like grit under the skin. She spoke to me as if I owed her something, as if she was doing me a favor just by talking. I'd dealt with rude patients in the ER before. That came with the job, and in a way, it was part of life. But here it cut differently. That entitled attitude. Up until now, everyone I healed had been grateful. Their thanks made me realize my habit of offering help wasn't the norm. Then this woman acted as if I were her servant.

"This entitled bitch," I cursed, then glanced back at Stretch. "Sorry, buddy, not a bitch. Dogs are nice. This entitled frog acted like I owed her something."

The road stretched ahead and, after riding for a while, my anger cooled. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Maybe I didn't owe my healing to anybody. Back in the hospital, I had to treat every patient who came through the door. That was the system. But here, things were different. I had agency. I could choose. If someone deserved my help, I'd give it. If they didn't, then I wouldn't. The thought lingered, not fully formed, but sitting there, waiting.

On the Map, the road curved west at some point and continued along a river to the capital. I didn't feel like peopling for a while, so I stopped and asked Stretch, "We have two options: continue on this road for about two or three days on a bike, or cut through the wilderness on foot. It'll be much shorter since we're going in a straight line, but no bike."

He thought for a minute, then jumped out of the trailer. I stored the bike, and we left the road toward the capital. The surrounding forest was alive with sounds: birds chirping, leaves rustling, and the distant flow of a river. It was the perfect atmosphere to clear my mind.

We walked, and I talked to Stretch, telling him about my work at the hospital, the 24-hour shifts, the fear of a lawsuit every time a patient didn't make it, my sorrow about losing patients, and the constant pressure. I also told him about the time after my residency and how I still pushed myself to the limit because I felt that I owed Sophie, since her parents cut her off financially when she married me.

Talking helped me see the rest of the picture. When I left Earth, I'd been relieved not to have that responsibility and pressure anymore. But in the first town, when I heard that healers were rare, some of that pressure returned. When I learned healers were expensive, it grew heavier. None of it was real—it was a weight I manufactured in my own head. Yes, I would still heal people; I had the means and the desire. But now it was clear. I didn't have an obligation. I didn't owe anybody anything.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With it came more than just air; it carried the understanding I had been circling around since I left Earth. Healing wasn't something I owed to anyone. It wasn't a debt to be repaid or a burden strapped to my back. It was mine. My skill, my mana, my effort. I could give it freely, or I could hold it back. Both were valid choices, because they were my choices. The thought stretched further the more I sat with it. If I wasn't bound to heal on command, then I wasn't bound to anything else either. Not to a system. Not to expectations. Not to imagined obligations. I wasn't a cog in some hospital machine anymore, running through shifts until I broke. I wasn't a husband drowning in guilt because Sophie's parents had cut her off. All of that was gone. Now it was just me, and the power to choose. Choice wasn't only about deciding whether to heal someone. It was bigger. I could choose where I went, who I traveled with, what kind of life I wanted to build. I could choose joy, or risk, or peace, or adventure. Nothing tied me down. Nothing forced me into a role I didn't want. The road ahead was mine to walk, and every step was mine to decide.

For the first time, I felt no invisible hands pulling at me, no voices pressing me to do what I should. The responsibility was mine, yes, but so was the freedom. I drew in another breath, deeper this time, and felt my chest and shoulders expand with it. The realization spread through me, anchoring itself in my bones and muscles. I wasn't just lighter. I was fuller, more present, more myself than I had been in years. Grounded. Free. I got the same sensation like before, of my whole body clenching and then releasing, with a wave of energy passing through me from head to toe.

We traveled through the wilderness for five days, and thankfully, it didn't rain. The "shortcut" turned out to be a long detour, but I didn't mind. The time outdoors steadied my mind and renewed my excitement for what was ahead. The air was crisp and fresh, and once I even spotted a bear before it bolted into the trees.

I set up camp early each evening with my glamping tent, which didn't need reassembling, and the smell of dinner mixed with the earthy scents of the forest. I cooked every day, played the guitar, and Stretch sang along. The quiet suited me. After the last town, I realized how much I needed space from people. I liked them well enough in small doses, but I'd learned to value solitude.

This part of the journey became more than just moving forward. It gave me the chance to reassess, to find peace, and to let go of the noise. Stretch seemed to understand, always near, his presence steady and comforting. The wilderness stripped away the unnecessary and left only what mattered, and I was grateful for it.

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