Morning dew sparkled on the grass, catching the sun's rays like glass beads. Zeniph sighed as he leaned back against the oak tree. A refreshing morning breeze moved through the plain, carrying the songs and whistles of the waking birds.
Fields of golden wheat swayed like ocean waves. Red leaves, burning in color, fell from the trees. Even in their decay, there was a strange beauty. To his right lay a cobble road, but despite his hopes, nobody had passed by yet.
Still, there was something to be thankful for: the judge had allowed him to choose his body and where he would be dropped. That was already more than he expected from him.
After half a day, he decided it was wiser to explore than to wait. He tore kernels from wheat stalks as he walked, eating them to ease his hunger.
Sinking into the horizon, the sun turned the sky into a mix of oranges and violets. The mesmerizing beauty still filled him with awe, even after seeing it millions of times.
His attention shifted with the sound of clattering wheels as a cart neared him. Carrying what looked to be baskets of freshly picked apples and pears, it moved slowly across the cobbled road.
For a moment, he tried casting a language spell, then remembered his holy power was sealed. A sigh escaped him. The frustration was amplified by his hunger. Usually, he could easily go for over a year without sustenance, but this frail body could neither handle that nor the casts that would allow him to do so.
"Evening, sir!" Zeniph called, hoping the rider understood Latin. "Could you perhaps let me ride with you until the next village?"
The gruff farmer looked him up and down, then stopped, motioning for him to get on.
"Many thanks."
The farmer muttered something, but Zeniph couldn't make it out.
"Um, could you please repeat that?"
Repeating it louder, he realized the man couldn't understand Latin. He simply understood what Zeniph wanted.
Fine by me, he thought, letting the clatter lull his restless mind. His eye caught something in the cart.
Curious, he reached for it, and upon further inspection, he realized it was simply a hollow tube. He waved it at the farmer, questioning if it was needed. A dismissing shake of the head told him it wasn't, so he motioned for a knife. The farmer refused initially, clearly skeptical of Zeniph's intentions.
But with a bit of pestering, he agreed, giving him a small pocket blade. It was only about two inches long, sheathed in a leather case, and slightly dull. He produced some slate he had picked up earlier and started sharpening it, running the rough stone across the blade until it cut finely.
With his tools secured, he carved a rough recorder from the reed. Handing back the blade, he moved to the back of the cart, setting himself between the crates, and gave a test whistle. It played perfectly.
After a few test tunes, the world around him fell silent as he played his old melodies. After tens of millennia, you pick up music, whether you like it or not.
Village lanterns came into view just as the final rays of sunlight were disappearing from the sky, replaced with the light of the stars.
Hopping off at the entrance, he thanked the farmer, who seemed quite happy with the development of having a musician as an escort at the end of a long, tiring day. But instead of letting him go, he quickly gave the reins to a local and took him to a tavern.
The warmth of the place was like a wall, akin to entering a portal. An instant change from the chill of the evening. Weary-looking men, some dressed in armor, others carrying daggers at their waists, all stopped to look at the stranger who had invaded their midst.
The farmer talked for a moment with what seemed to be a local blacksmith before motioning Zeniph to play. Before he could answer, his stomach gave its terms for him, sending a ripple of laughter around the tables.
Another local finally talked to him directly.
"You play. We give money. Money gives you food."
It was spoken in broken Latin with a heavy accent, but Zeniph understood.
Grabbing a chair, he sat down near the fireplace and started his tune. This time, he played a bit more aggressively, heavier, quite unlike his song in nature. But it suited the place better.
After a while, everyone was back to laughing and talking amongst themselves, with an occasional coin being dropped in front of him. An hour passed quickly, the small pile growing into a sizable-looking pile. A meal-money-looking pile.
Counting it up, there were twenty-two coppers.
"How much for some meat?"
The bartender stared at him, confused.
Realizing it was futile, he was about to walk back when the man from earlier came up to the counter, translating. Nodding at him, the bartender disappeared before reappearing a moment later with a plate.
There was a drumstick and some steamed vegetables around it.
"Twenty coppers."
After paying, Zeniph returned to the fireplace, eating his food in silence as he thought of what to do next. His situation and goals were sort of set out. Musicians got paid, so a bard was the way to go for now.
He also needed to return, but per the judge's words he could only do so when he was filled with love toward humans and had gotten rid of his own arrogance and jealousy. Which meant a journey to the holy lands, as their priests were supposedly experts on such matters.
The outside chill broke his thoughts as he searched for a place to sleep, finding a stable with some horses. As he lay down onto a pile of straw, he thought of how long it would take him to return.
His human body screamed for rest, and frustration surged as it refused to yield. He finally succumbed to weariness and fell asleep.