Travel to the witch

You guide your horse to the left and follow the path, which is just wide enough to ride side by side.

"What is your name?" you ask him after a while.

"G-g-garrett, Mylady," he answers.

"Well, Garrett... First of all, you have to stop calling me 'Mylady', 'Princess of Velonia' or anything that would suggest my aristocratic origin," you clarify, "To stay inconspicuous, we will impersonate as a farm laborer and his wife, hunting for a job. So you must call me Leyla or spouse."

"Yes, M-m-m-," he replies.

"GARRETT," you interrupt him, "Call me Leyla! Try it!"

"I'm s-s-sorry, L-l-l...," he stammers nervously, before he takes a deep breath, "Leyla."

"Fine...," you sigh, "Now let's coordinate our stories... hm... how old are you?"

"This year, I w-w-will turn nineteen."

"I am already nineteen," you reply.

Making up your story, you continue questioning the varlet, who shyly stammers his answers. It was like getting blood out of a stone, but at least it distracts you a little from the plain linen clothes, which are scratching your tender skin.

"L-l-leyla... I would suggest setting up camp over th-th-there...," he says and points to some bushes near the edge of the wood.

The sun would be up for at least an hour, but the inside of your thighs feel raw and your buttocks hurt from riding all day long. That's why you just slightly nod, directing your horse to the shrubbery.

Garrett takes care of the horses, collects some branches and twigs, and starts a fire, while you just prepare your sleeping place. The rest of the time you are watching him at work, feeling completely useless.

Afterwards, you have dinner with your companion before you are getting ready for bed. As you come back from peeing, Garrett already lies on the ground, covered with a woolen blanket.

Now you could thank the shy varlet, who probably saved you from getting just a marginal note in the history of Velonia.