"I've changed my mind about that dress-up spell of yours," grumbled Wanderer, pulling his fur coat tighter around himself. "I should have brought warmer clothes from home…"
In 1996, it was currently mid-October, but Oleandra had no idea what the date in this time period was, except that it was sometime in winter, many years before year 1 of the modern era.
Wanderer had tried telling her the date, but since Oleandra couldn't make head nor tail of the various lunisolar calendars currently in use in this era— Roman, Celtic or otherwise— she had pretty much given up on finding out how many years separated her from the present, especially since she had no point of reference.
"I've got some warmer clothes with me," Oleandra teased him. "That is, if you don't mind wearing women's clothes…"
"I'll pass," said Wanderer with a laugh. "Although, I wouldn't say no if you could make me a nice coat like yours…"
Unfortunately, Oleandra knew nothing about the kind of magic seamstresses like Madam Malkin used to craft clothing, nor did she own any enchanted looms. The best she could manage was Charming a pair of knitting needles into clumsily stitching together a scarf out of yarn, but even that was pushing it. She'd have an easier time doing it by hand…
"Incidentally, would you mind mending my socks again?" asked Wanderer, "I'm afraid I've worn another few holes into them…"
Oleandra sighed.
She didn't exactly know how to fix socks by hand, but she did know the Mending Charm.
"Just pass 'em to me before we go to sleep," said Oleandra dully. "I'll take care of 'em…"
In the beginning, Oleandra and Wanderer had started off as travelling companions on equal terms. Together, they had agreed that he would help her find her way home, while she would give him directions to the Isle of Apples. But as the weeks passed, Wanderer had begun treating Oleandra more and more as his personal maid, since he took care of hunting for food and warding off wild animals (while she contributed nothing much of use).
As a Witch, Oleandra was perfectly capable of killing wild animals or foraging for wild mushrooms with magic. But since she was pretending that she only knew one spell, returning to camp with a deer under her arm wouldn't have been exactly subtle.
She'd tried bringing back a wild hare once, just to prove she could pull her weight, but then Wanderer had asked her to show him how to make a rabbit snare, so to avoid getting caught in a web of half-truths in the future, Oleandra had pretty much given up on hunting.
Wanderer was an incredibly inquisitive boy, as it turned out— curious about everything around him.
At any rate, Oleandra could have struck off on her own at any time, but for now, she wanted to see Wanderer's quest to its conclusion. After all, he was her only lead to ending this temporally segregated life of hers. If fate was indeed to blame for her repeated time-slips, she could only hope that helping this boy complete his quest would bring this matter to a swift end.
And if it didn't, then at least she'd have a friend in the past.
"Why won't you tell me what this quest of yours is about, by the way?" Oleandra asked casually. "Why is your family making you find this island on your own?"
Wanderer chewed his lower lip, trying to mentally separate what he could afford to say from what he had to keep to himself.
"When I was born, a visiting Seeress who'd been visiting my clan made a certain prophecy," Wanderer finally said. "Er, yeah… I don't think I can tell you any more than that. My father made me promise."
"Fine then," said Oleandra in a huff. "Keep your secrets."
Wanderer had given her plenty of information already by telling her this. If his father, the clan leader, had sworn his son into secrecy, then it was probably a matter of life or death— either for Wanderer himself, or for his Wizarding clan as a whole. Now, Oleandra just had to figure out what Avalon and the Greater Fairies who lived there had to do with it…
The pair continued walking in silence among the bare trees, the soggy snow squelching under their feet. So far, they hadn't met another living soul since entering the kingdom of Cameliard, which was probably a good thing, all things considered. In this era, Sherwood Forest was much larger than it was in the present…
"OUCH!"
Startled, Oleandra jumped in surprise and looked at Wanderer, who was standing pitifully on one foot— one of his leather boots had completely fallen apart through wear and tear.
Who knew how many times he had walked up and down the entire length of Britain since leaving his home in the north, failing to find the Faerie Island he was looking for…
"I don't suppose you know much about shoemaking, do you?" said Wanderer sheepishly. "You know how to mend clothes and socks and such, so do you know how to fix boots?"
Oleandra did know how to fix boots… by using the Mending Charm, but to use that, she would have to pull out her wand, which she kept concealed in one of her pockets— and unless her life was threatened, there it would stay. She couldn't let her companion see future magic, after all.
At any rate, she had managed fool Wanderer when it came to fixing socks, but since she knew nothing about shoemaking (at least when compared to knitting), there was no way she'd be able to fool him this time around. If she accepted to repair his boots, the curious brat was bound to want to watch her do it, and then the jig would be up.
"Yes, I do," said Oleandra pointedly. "There must be at least one shoemaker or tanner in the nearby Muggle villages, don't you think? They should be able to fix your boots for you."
In this time period before the advent of Hogwarts, magical lore and knowledge was still extremely fractured. Wizards still lived in clans, so individual clan legacies were often extremely specific, concerning only very narrow magical disciplines. Spells would be invented and then die in obscurity, simply because lineages would end without successors to inherit their magics.
Before the Romans and their wands came along, spells were notoriously difficult to cast. Really, who in their right mind would spend years learning a spell to fix tears in clothing, when sewing by hand only took a few months to learn? If you were going to pour your life into learning magic, you'd choose something impressive— like changing the weather or conjuring fireballs— not patching up trousers.
As such, it wasn't all that surprising to Oleandra that Wanderer wouldn't know any spells to mend his clothes. Conversely, it's for this reason that Wanderer wasn't surprised that Oleandra only knew one spell. Or at least, that's what Oleandra had led him to believe…
(What puzzled him more was why a Quick-Change Charm existed at all— and why anyone would bother learning it, when putting on clothes took all of a few seconds anyway.)
"Oh, bother," said Wanderer, holding up his naked foot gingerly. "I suppose we'll have to barter with the Muggles, then…"
The Dark Ages were still a long way off, when the Muggles would grow fearful enough of Wizardkind to dare hunt them down and burn them at the stake, but they'd still have to be careful. Muggle peasants were notoriously skittish when it came to magic, and they were quick to reach for their pitchforks…