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[x] When I opened my eyes once more, it was to see the strange man's own missing. In their place, I could see the last moments of the memory I'd provided--bringing a sense of nostalgia to me as I viewed it once more--until it at last faded away and his gaze returned to normal. But he looked pale for some reason, and seemed dazed as he stepped away from me, muttering to himself in a foreign language. Concerned, I watched as he turned shakily to a shelf with piles of clothes, where he selected a set and thrust it in my direction. But it wasn't a look of anger or fear. More, shock and awe. I wondered what he had seen, and for a moment I was afraid he'd seen something...terrible. My memory was hazy but I had a general impression of the things that I had gone through, and none of it was particularly pleasant. However, any time I tried to venture further into those feelings, a sharp pain in my skull drove me backwards. There was something there I wasn't meant to see.

Finally he stuttered out a response, though whether or not it was an answer to my question was left in the air. He expressed he had never seen anything like what he experienced in my memory, even though he had journeyed through the realm of death himself. He then turned to Jean, answering questions I must have only half heard while bringing my memories to the forefront of my mind. Half, because I could piece together what exactly the man was answering. Jean had offered to barter, to which the merchant stated he would credit two hundred 'Ryo', a monetary term I didn't recognize, for supplies. Was my memory worth more than the clothes then? Of course, I had no scale to what exactly that amount was worth, since the Beastlings mostly bartered anyway, and I'd avoided most spending later in life.

I took a step back to let them do their business as they pleased, taking that opportunity to retreat to change my clothes. I had no intention of removing what I wore, just put more layers over top what I already had. So I slipped the new clothing on, standing on the nearby porch so that I could still hear their conversation. The pants fit fine--he must have made a pretty good judgement call for the size--but it was the shirt that was the problem. After snagging the cloth twice on the ends of my antlers, I managed to maneuver it around them enough to pull it down. The dark, log-sleeved shirt provided almost instant relieve. Besides that, there was a heavy coat, a scarf, gloves, a hat that I couldn't wear, and a pair of boots.