The sun was raising high, making the dark green grass around her seem brighter. With a warm feeling to it, the way the wind gently blew across the open meadow where she walked. It could almost make a persons soul lift and raise, as if it went beyond the stars and the heavens. The air to her was refreshing a welcoming feeling from the dry air in the lands of remaliah. One could hear the birds chirping, with the sound of smaller animals running across the grass. At one point she looked up to see a bird wings stretched in full flight above her. Oh how she wished she could be like that at times, way above the ground just gliding along the winds currents.

Long black hair falling freely around her, the wind picking at it lifting it around her and behind her. Giving her a almost dark hallow, light tanned arms outstretched as she twirled slowly. She hadn't been in these lands for long, and she wondered if there was actually life here or if she was the only one? How nice would that be? to be the only one for miles and miles? Dark eyes closed as she laughed gently to herself. Her small frame clad in a plain linen dress. Worn with many years of use, the bottom slightly tattered but not that bad. All over one could see where she had done plenty of mending repair to it. Over her shoulder she had a burlap bag that she carried what little things she had within. Stopping for a moment, in her mad twirling stumbling lightly as she fell back onto the ground arms outstretched still and hair around her as she looked up towards the heavens.

As dusk crept across the lands the creaking of wheels could be heard. Two wagons pulled by two sturdy horses made their way across the fields and meadows. The four-wheeled wagons, one red and one green, looked quite a lot like the kind typically associated with gypsies. At the head of the two-part caravan was the green wagon, pulled by a brown horse. Holding the reins was an androgynous-looking blonde man in his early twenties and a redheaded man in his mid-twenties poked his head out the wagon’s door behind him.
“Ain’t we going to set up camp soon? I’m dying for dinner, but we need more fresh water.”
The blonde coachman, Simon, did not turn around.
“You’re always hungry, Jim. We’ll just go down the hill here and then we’ll stop for the night.”
Simon leaned to one side and shouted to the following wagon:
“Hey, Corentin! We’ll stop down here, right?”
The black-haired coachman of the red wagon creaking along behind the green one looked up with an absent-minded expression on his face.
“What? Oh, yeah. Sure.”
Simon turned back and shook his head.
“He’s still fuzzy in the head. We've got to make him stop with that…”

The wagons rolled down the hill and halted. After setting the horses loose to graze on the meadow Jim and Simon went to fetch water for the longed-for dinner while Corentin went into the red wagon which served as the troupe’s storage room plus workshop. Squeezed in among all the planks, curtains, drapes, costumes and theatrical props were an old battered writing desk and a rickety chair. Sitting down on the chair Corentin opened a drawer and rummaged through heaps of papers. Pulling out a piece of parchment he studied it carefully while idly toying with a quill. The scribbling could best be described as the work of a madman, and it was a wonder that he could make anything out of it. After a while he put down the quill and picked up a piece of charcoal and underlined the most coherent passages of the text.

Though he had written it himself it was like reading it for the very first time. He did not remember writing anything of this. It was the crazy ranting written by a hand guided by the haze of opium. Corentin buried his head in his hands and pulled his fingers through his unruly black curls.
“Damn, I need to stop while I still can...”
With a sigh he picked up the quill again and began working on transforming the words and sentences into a more coherent text. He might turn it into a short sketch for the stage... Ah, yes. The vanitas theme. That would work.

After a while there was a knock on the door to signal that dinner was ready. He joined Jim and Simon by the campfire, and after the three men had finished their meal of vegetable soup and bread they decided to get some sleep. Simon and Jim went into the green wagon while Corentin wrapped himself into a blanket in order to sleep outdoors, underneath the wagon. The troupe always had one person sleeping outdoors in order to keep watch over the horses (now tied to two trees). He made a makeshift pillow out of an unused sack and lay down on his left side. He yawned. It had been a long day and the hour was late. Soon he was fast asleep, as were Simon and Jim in their beds inside the wagon.

None of them had noticed that the red wagon where Corentin had been working earlier was unlocked. What few valuable possessions the troupe owned were hidden away safely, as were their money. Lying about inside the storage and workshop wagon were, among other things, all odd sorts of fancy clothing and jewellery, but it was all made of cheap materials and glass or, at the best, semi-precious stones. However, Corentin had thoughtlessly left a sheathed ornamental dagger lying on a shelf above the writing desk, since sharp objects and opium haze did not go well together.

But, since none of the three had discovered their mistake of leaving the door unlocked they all slept untroubled sleep.