As they made their way to the village, they took the large bend that curves around a particularly dense patch of hardwoods. At the end of the bend, a cart came into view past the trees.
It was parked awkwardly along the side of the path, one wheel half-buried in the rutted soil. A man knelt beside it, muttering to himself while examining the axle, and a woman stood nearby holding a crate of dried goods against her hip. A boy stood just a little apart from them with his arms crossed, looking irritated and not doing much to hide it.
Jacob slowed down when he recognized the boy. It was Tomas, the self-proclaimed tinkerer from the village festival.
"That looks like his family," Jacob murmured.
Sera leaned in. "They're the ones who make those weird latches and foldable chairs, right?"
"Yeah. His dad is the village tinkerer. Only one around here."
As they drew closer, Jacob raised a hand in greeting. "Need a hand with something?"
The man looked up from the wheel, strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. "Ah, it's the enchanter boy. That would be appreciated. The cart took a hit on the way back from Thornhold. This spoke is damaged and won't let the wheel turn. I can get it straight, but it won't hold . . ."
Jacob stepped closer to take a look. The cart was loaded heavily with sacks and wooden boxes, probably supplies from the city. One wheel had sunk at an angle, and a split ran up through a wooden spoke. Not all the way through, but enough to deform the inner rim.
Tomas stood nearby, not saying anything. His expression was guarded, and when Jacob glanced at him, the older boy looked away.
Jacob knelt beside the broken wheel and brushed his hand across the crack.
"I can try to reinforce it. If you can mend it enough to sit right, like you said."
Tomas's mother stepped forward with a kind smile. "That would be a blessing, dear. We were about to start unloading it just to take the weight off. The walk back would have taken all afternoon."
His father just nodded at the young enchanter before rolling up his sleeves and getting to work. He was not a big man, but with a bit of ingenuity and leverage, he was able to quickly get the wheel propped up by getting the mule to tilt the wagon.
"Alright, magic boy, let's see what you can do. If I lower it like this, it will just warp again."
Jacob pulled out his inscription tool and got to work.
'Just a few strengthening runes along the circumference here should do the trick . . .'
When he was done, the runes on the wheel shone for a while before quieting down.
"Well, I'd be damned, you really do have some magic, eh?"
The old man was a bit abrasive, but Jacob thought it was a bit funny how he talked. Regardless, the man got the wagon lowered gently, and the wheel held just fine.
"You'll want to avoid deep ruts, but it should hold," Jacob said, standing and brushing his hands off symbolically.
The tinkerer gave the wheel a testing nudge with his boot, then walked a slow circle around it while muttering to himself. Finally, he gave a satisfied grunt and clapped his hands once.
"Well, if it breaks now, it's not your fault."
Jacob gave a small smile, unsure if that was praise or a warning.
Tomas's mother stepped forward and placed her hand gently on Jacob's shoulder. "Thank you for stopping. That saved us a lot of trouble."
"You're welcome," Jacob said, a bit sheepishly.
He glanced toward Tomas, who had said nothing the entire time. The older boy was staring at the wheel, jaw set tight.
Jacob thought maybe he would walk off without a word, but instead, Tomas looked up, as if trying to say something. His mouth opened slightly, but then his expression twisted like something had caught in his throat. He let out a small cough and turned it into a scowl.
"Guess it worked," Tomas said with a slightly hoarse voice.
"It did," Jacob answered, not sure what else to say.
The tinkerer clicked his tongue and gestured toward the cart. "Come on, boy, help your mother up front. If we wait too long, that mule's going to fall asleep on its feet."
Tomas gave Jacob one more look, a bit of waryness in his eye, but there was a deeper emotion and meaning to the look.
Jacob had seen that look somewhere before, but couldn't quite pin it.
'Is that . . . admiration?'
As the cart began to move forward, the repaired wheel rolled smoothly and steadily, like nothing had ever been wrong.
Jacob and Sera stood quietly for a few moments, watching the family disappear around the next bend.
Sera glanced sideways at him. "Do you think he always looks like he's chewing on thorns?"
"Maybe," Jacob replied. "Or maybe he just wanted to say something and couldn't."
Sera shrugged. "Either way, he saw that enchantment hold. Bet he remembers that."
Jacob didn't answer, but a part of him hoped she was right.
"We'd better be on our way as well. I have some business in the village."
By the time Jacob and Sera made it to the village square, the usual midday bustle had already settled into its slower rhythm. Most of the morning trade was done, and the merchants that remained were busy tallying coin or gossiping under shaded awnings.
Jacob didn't stop to browse. The booths were the same as always, and his coin pouch was lighter than he'd like it to be anyway.
Sera peeled off after spotting one of the weavers she knew, and Jacob found himself alone near the grain scales.
Old Master Wren, the miller, was standing beside them, arms crossed and scowling at a wagonload of millet that clearly came in underweight. He waved the young farmhand off and muttered something about poor soil this year before retreating back into the millhouse.
Jacob stared at the scales for a moment longer. Something about the exchange stuck with him.
He'd been trying to make gold with enchantments, chasing the idea of selling clever items or showing off what he could do. But no one here could afford to pay for small wonders.
'The harvest does seem to be a large point of stress around here though . . .'