Today was a perfect example of why mid-May is one of the best times of the year to be walking in the Westlands. The world was exploding with green, the air was filled with the smells of flowers, the earth in the fields, growing things, and the faint salty tang of the distant sea. The man who was enjoying the walk along the Provis to Magwitch Road had done so countless times through all weather conditions since he'd started working for the Order of St. Thrimble almost twelve years ago. He was just over six feet tall and was wearing a dusty beige, medium-weight shirt and pants made from the durable cotton-hemp blend of fabric that was favoured by the residents. A wide-brimmed straw hat was on his head and military-style leather walking boots were on his feet, a large and heavy backpack was on his back and a rather battered ash quarterstaff was currently in his right hand as he used it to help to propel himself.
The Order was based in the small city of Havisham, the final stop in his circuit after Magwitch, and employed Healers who traveled from town to town in approximately six-week circuits to provide more advanced medical care than the local doctors can. This man on the road was named Healer Harold Moser, Doctor of Magical Medicine and also Doctor of Magical Veterinary Medicine, and he would have enjoyed the trip even more if he'd had a horse to ride, but the Order's finances wouldn't support the notoriously expensive beasts, even if he could provide their veterinary care. But he'd still need to find a place to put it when he wasn't using it and that would lead to more expense and inconvenience. The stage coaches never seemed to run when he wanted them, but given the state of the roads, he was probably better off walking, or so he tried to justify it to himself.
People's first impressions of him were usually that he didn't seem much out of the ordinary. His face could fit in anywhere and was relatively unlined despite his 55 years, much of which had been spent outdoors. His hat concealed hair that was cut short and already almost entirely gray, as well as thinning on top and receding up his forehead. His deliberately loose clothing concealed his muscular frame, and his manner was always quiet and respectful in new situations. It was always his eyes, which were an odd shade of blue with hints of green that reminded people of the ocean on a sunny day, that made the strongest impression, eyes that were restless and watchful.
The costs of medical care and education are covered by The Kingdom, as they are deemed too important to be left in the hands of the private sector, and he kept track of all of the work that he did in his journal, where it was transcribed into a claim form when he returned to Havisham. Expenses for staying at an inn were also reported, but infrequently because there was usually someone whose bed had room for him and that she insisted that he occupy.
The someone in Provis had packed him a delicious lunch of bread, meat, and cheese, along with filling up his canteens with the local beer, the combined effect of which was making him want to have a nap instead of walking. He burped loudly and smiled as he remembered the somewhat indignant letter that she had included with it.
"Dear Harold. You are the best of the many, many lovers I have had. Your kisses are soft and gentle, and I have never had anyone brush my lips with his fingertips the way you do to stoke my fire. The way you lick my nipples and stroke and massage my saggy tits inflames my pussy long before you even reach it. You find a way to make massaging my feet and legs so sexy that it gets my juices flowing and my clitoris so hard that those soft squeezes and probes by your fingers set my whole body on fire. The deep probing of your tongue and gentle sucking on my labia and clitoris never fail to make me orgasm so hard that I have to put a pillow over my mouth to keep from waking the neighbours." She lived in a house on the eastern outskirts of the town, well away from anyone else, but the noise she sometimes made when he really got her going did need a bit of muffling. "Only then, when I am weak and helpless," Harold snorted at the thought, as they were the last words one would use to describe her, "you lick and kiss your way up my body, inflame my tits with more attention, and then finally fill my hot, needy pussy with your delightful thick cock. You play with me, sometimes thrusting hard to blow my mind, then gently to keep me on the edge, until I finally flip you over and ride on you. Even then you always lick and suck my nipples until finally I come again and then you fill me with your hot cum."
"But last night, you CHEATED! I had planned to lick you clean and keep after you until you were hard again so that you could take me from behind and keep pounding me the way you know how, until at long last we would come again and finally fall asleep in each other's arms. But instead, you used your Mage's Touch to send those little sparks into my nipples and breasts, and your Mage's Cock to fill my womanhood and zap my clitoris with more! You set my whole body on fire and played it like a fiddle until my orgasm tore through it and left me unable to do anything but sleep it off. That smug little smirk on your face this morning when I found I didn't even need a quickie nearly made me put something nasty into your beer, you awful, loving man!"
"Oh, and the men say thanks for the clockwork buzzing toys you gave me. You've reduced wear and tear on their fleshy delights quite a bit. But when you come back, I will be waiting, and you will not cheat me again, mister! Love always, and all ways, Martha." Martha Grimsby was 65, only five-foot-five, with long, gray hair, expressive brown eyes over a somewhat fleshy nose and a wide smile. She also had a nearly lifelong sex addiction "problem" that had drawn nearly all the local men and many of the women (sometimes even husband and wife together) into her boudoir. Harold enjoyed making love to the women who wanted it, and with his deep knowledge of physiology in general, he knew how to leave them exhausted and satisfied. Martha took a lot more work than some of the others, so he'd had to resort to the Mage's Touch because a very busy day had left him too tired to satisfy her the usual way. He would have to remember to send a couple of the village's young studs to keep her occupied the next time he visited.
The route from Provis to Magwitch followed well-marked, arrow-straight country roads of varying quality bordered by fields green with newly-sprouted crops. They were usually corn, wheat, or hay, but he noted where a farmer was rotating with something different, like beans, turnips, carrots, or beets. He paused every so often to cast a Blessing on the fields that he could see. It didn't help the plants grow, which would take way too much Magic, but instead made the various bugs that liked to munch on the crops far more visible to the birds that eat them. He'd noticed that the birds recognized him and were sitting on fences and in trees waiting, and that they swarmed the fields after the spell had been cast. The landscape was flat or gently rolling hills, which made walking much easier than in other parts of The Kingdom. The long pastoral views were often interrupted by large patches of woodland that were carefully maintained by their owners as homes for the birds and other animals.
Maintaining a regular schedule had another perk: when the locals were expecting his arrival, there would often be someone waiting for him at some point along the road, ready to give him a lift in the back of a wagon. Said wagon often happened to need some sort of minor repair, or maybe the horse pulling it needed some sort of minor repair, or sometimes there were one or more people in need of somewhat more urgent repairs. Either way, he would gladly do what was necessary for the person who went out of his or her way to be there for him. He had a long-standing suspicion that there was some sort of selection process involved, but nobody would give him a straight answer when he asked. He had also noted that the likelihood of getting a ride was proportional to how nice the weather was, which made sense since nobody wanted to sit out in the rain or cold.
Harold arrived at the usual pickup point for Magwitch on time just after noon and an hour after his meal and found a familiar person waiting for him, perched on the driver's seat of an empty hay wagon. She and the horse were resting in the shade of a large tree, through which a northerly breeze was rustling. When she saw him, she dismounted from the wagon and ran up to meet him, all but throwing herself into his arms, much to his surprise. His heavy pack made him lose his balance and he abruptly sat down hard.
"Oops! Sorry!" she apologized hastily in her warm, mellow voice, grabbing his extended right hand and hauling him to his feet, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket. She was a farm girl through and through, five-foot-nine, with shoulder-length honey-blonde hair, a smile to rival the sunshine, a straight, medium-sized nose and eyes that were his favourite shade of green. Her nicely filled-out, plain white blouse had short sleeves that exposed her well-toned muscles, and her dark brown skirt that went down to mid-shin, along with her practical farmer's boots that reached the skirt's bottom, concealed those in her legs. On her left ring finger were a hand-carved wooden engagement ring and a gold wedding band. "Let me get that off you," she continued, deftly removing his pack and casually tossing it onto the back of the wagon, where it landed with a heavy thud. He hastily retrieved his fallen staff as she did so.
"Helen, good Heavens, what happened to you?" he asked with concern, now finally able to see that her attractive round face was marred by several scratches and a blooming black eye, her arms also had some scratches and bruises and the skirt on her wide hips was looking the worse for the wear.
