The day wears on as the little caravan rattles along the old road. Sometimes the road is still paved with paving stones, others in rougher stone, and at still others it is just a dirt track. It is always bumpy, but is wide and clear and there are wide grassy swaths along each side. The farms and fields become less common as the day wears on. The afternoon brings you to more wooded areas and the road begins to wind up one ridge and down the other side, over and over.
Near sunset the caravan tops a low ridge and you see a village surrounded by a wall of wooden palisades with a pair of open wooden gates nestled in a valley between the ridges. A number of small plots of land around the village have been planted with vegetables and maize.
A small stream runs past the village just on this side. The road winds down to the stream where it disappears and then picks up on the other side the stream...a ford.
There is a small herd of sheep being tended by a pair of boys and three dogs on your left side up and down the grassy side of the ridge you are descending. On your right the land is more wooded and you can hear the sounds of chopping going on somewhere in the wood there. Down at the stream there are three people fishing. Inside the palisade smoke is rising from a number a chimneys and you can see what looks like wash hanging on lines behind a couple of the houses. You can see a fairly large empty area in the center of the village.
Caravan Beck rides down the train saying, "This is village of Buttie (he pronounces it boo-Tie). We'll be camping for the night here, safe inside the walls. This is the last really safe haven before Goblintown...if that still is."
