"Harbor for - flying ships that fly between rounds?"

"If you want to call it that."

"What do people usually call it?"

"Sailing."

This feels like odd behavior from the translation spell but maybe that's to be expected when it's working in such an unfamiliar context. "I see. How do most people make a living, in the city?"

"Trading for stuff, I imagine. In Windtower. In a real city they probably... drive carriages, run restaurants, that sort of thing."

Nod. "And what gods are worshipped here?"

"Oh, 'round here we're mostly Celebratory Animists. Some of the neighbor countries do the gods thing more but we've never gone," says Cachion.

"What is a Celebratory Animist?"

"I'm no missionary," says Dayr. "It's, oh, remembering to look at the world like it exists in its own right. And all its pieces. LIke, when I was making Cachion, I was thinking about what I wanted but also what the farm wanted, in a person to take over when I'm gone, and not just the whole farm but the chickens and the horse and the trees and the crops."

"It's 'Celebratory' because we split off from a kind of animism that didn't believe in holidays," clarifies Cachion. "About a lifetime back there was a schism."

"Huh. Do you know what afterlife Celebratory Animists mostly get?"

"The understanding is we melt back into the universe but it's not heretical to figure you get reincarnated when someone makes someone like you, some people try for that on purpose to get dead people back," says Cachion.

"- I see."

"I think that's silly," says Dayr, shaking his head. "If I tried making Tashte all over again that would be, well, for one thing what if someone beat me to it and he wasn't around to reincarnate, what then, I'd be expecting Tashte and have Cachion instead, not healthy. Sometimes I talk to him, usually when I'm chopping wood, but he could be anywhere by now."

"Tashte is someone you know who died? Of old age?"

"Tashte made me," Dayr says. "He was one of the first settlers on Snakeseye, came over from Wheatround to start the farm and made me to help out with it."

Dissolved back into the universe. It's so - empty and pointless - "My condolences." She's going to have to reinvent scrying, so she can check if they're right and for some of them there's no afterlife - if they don't have scrying they wouldn't know for sure - it'd be so much easier if she at least had Locate Object or Clairvoyance but she doesn't, she's starting from nothing - damn it -

"He lived a full life," says Dayr. "But thanks."

She is distracted, now, trying to think how she can reinvent enough magic to do anything useful. Wizards on their own were rarely that impressive, in ancient times, it took people to learn from or make work for you - well, she could make some of herself but less upset about potentially dying in a magic explosion, speed it up that way -

She doesn't say anything for a little while.

They look at each other, and at her. Cachion eventually puts away the socks and shrugs on the coat.

She pulls herself together. "I am sorry to have inconvenienced you. My translation spell will stop working in a little while; is there anything else I should know before that happens?"

"Uh - which way Windtower is, I guess. You go towards Mikeo's place, the blue farmhouse that way - from there you'll be able to see the road, once it's not raining - and you go to the road, turn left, keep going, when it's not obvious which fork is the main road follow the deeper wagon ruts," says Cachion.

"Since it's magic, not darning, can you fix stuff besides clothes?" wonders Dayr.

"Yes. I need all the pieces and it takes a lot of time if things are badly damaged."

With this information they can find her more stuff to fix. Gear for the horse, a wagon wheel, a knife with a bent tip.

She will hang out and quietly mend things and cast Detect Thoughts when they're not looking and before Tongues runs out so she can find out whether there's anything important they're not saying.