Guffin and Lady Harriet plodded along the road through the morning. It wasn't long before the already barely-paved cobblestone from Pumpkintown faded out, leaving only dirt behind - a horrible, orange dirt that was thankfully not dusty, but it was sticky, and stuck to Guffin's bare feet and ragged cuffs, and Harriet's boots and the edge of her robes. Roots wound their way out of the hillsides and into the verges of the road, and wildlife chittered and screamed through the forest.
Harriet, used to her magical horse, was quickly regretting her inability to keep the illusion going. Her boots, the most practical pair she had been able to find in High Mountain for field work, were not just uncomfortable, but HOT. Her robes were hot. Her hair was hot. Why was it so hot in autumn? Had riding the wind in the form of a horse really made that much difference? Or was it the elevation?
Guffin was completely fine. Simply enjoying a walk in the woods, whistling along with the birds, keeping an eye out on the squashier spots for any interesting mushrooms.
By the time they reached the rock, Harriet thought she might simply die from the slow yet tiring pace, and Guffin thought perhaps it was time for lunch.
The rock was a strangely monolithic thing, in a hilly landscape of overgrowth and red clay. Taller than Harriet, a crunchy grey granite, which someone with a rather blunt chisel or a rather sharp stick had mostly flattened out a plane about halfway up. On the plane, in worse handwriting than the signpost, were several letters that most likely spelled "SLABTOWN". There was also a helpful rectangle underneath. The other side, done in a similar manner, read "PUMPKINTOWN" with a squashy circle underneath.
"Does this mean we're halfway?" Harriet asked hopefully.
"No. It means it's lunch time," Guffin chirped happily, sliding out of their bag with an alarming crash, "and that we're on the road to Slab Town."
"I thought we were going to Green Laurel," the elf whined.
"Well, it's not like it's next door," the goblin creature shrugged, before all but diving inside the formidable backpack. "Gotta go through Slab Town, and Slim Pickens, and Fat Pickens, and Traveler's Rest, and Tiger Town."
"Those weren't on the sign," the mage grumbled.
"It would be even taller if they were."
Out of the bag tumbled, through the conversation, a chunk of bread, a jar of suspicious and lumpy brown paste, a jar of even more suspicious and lumpy blackish-purple paste, a terrifyingly large knife, and an alarmingly thick metal canteen that landed with a thud. Harriet watched in increasing horror, wondering what variety of creature had been dismembered and crushed into paste to create such a...
"Sit down," Guffin suggested. "You look pale. Have some water, the milk will go better with the sandwiches."
Harriet sat, pain radiating from her entire bone structure. The goblin, in short order, hacked the bread into slices, smeared globs of the contents of the jars on, and smashed them together, slimy side in.
"Peanut butter and jelly," they announced proudly, handing over one of the sandwiches. "Traveler's classic. You can make them ahead of time, but they get soggy.
This was also presented with a small cup of milk, which was still cold inside the metal canteen.
Harriet took a delicate bite. The bread was a little stale, but a good sourdough. The brown paste... peanut butter... was salty and crunchy and sticky, and the jelly was tangy and sweet and just a bit slimy. It was quite a combination.
"You act like you've never had one of these," Guffin grinned, before downing half a sandwich in one bite.
"How much further to Slab Town?" Harriet grumbled, refusing to answer.