Mountain Market Journey

A Story by Eloi Serre

After days of struggle, I finally secured a spot on the rickety bus bound for the mountain market. The arduous journey through winding roads and precarious cliffs sharpened my resolve. Each jolt and sway of the vehicle reminded me of the rarity of this opportunity, honing my business acumen with every mile.

The crisp mountain air filled my lungs as I stepped off the bus. Throngs of traders bustled about, their voices a cacophony of dialects from across the region. I approached the day's dealings with newfound discipline, the captain's grave advice echoing in my mind: "Steady wins the race, lad."

I prioritized reliable investments over tempting risks. When a trader offered me a chance to double my money on counterfeit goods, I politely declined. Instead, I focused on small, consistent gains in legitimate wares. By midday, my pockets jingled with a modest but honest profit.

As the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks, I found a sheltered alcove away from the market's bustle. The hard ground would serve as my bed, but the view of the star-strewn sky almost made it worthwhile. I realized that arriving early, well-rested, could give me an edge. Better sleep meant clearer thoughts and shrewder decisions.

With my capital preserved and small profits secured, I allowed myself a moment of optimism. Soon, I'd have enough for that new laptop charging cable �" a small but crucial step towards exploring lucrative online collaborations in other markets.

As I drifted off to sleep, my thoughts wandered north. Not just any north, but the old North. Her icy embrace called to me, a siren song of frost and possibility. I missed her, damn the cold. Her people might be harsh, but they possessed a straightforward cruelty that made the veiled malice of the South seem far worse in comparison.

Come morning, the market's din pulled me from uneasy dreams. I knew I'd have to step out of my comfort zone to truly succeed here. The thought of spreading my unconventional ideas �" a mixture of fringe philosophy and questionable spirituality �" made my stomach churn. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

"You can't condemn free speech!" I muttered, psyching myself up as I approached a group of traders. To my surprise, a few seemed intrigued by my rambling pitch. One even slipped me a few coins, muttering something about "supporting the cause."

Yet, no matter how I tried, I couldn't seem to shortcut my way to success. The market, with its unwritten rules and hidden hierarchies, demanded that I pay my dues. Each day was a task to be endured, a lesson to be learned.

As I counted my meager earnings that evening, I realized that true progress would come not from grand schemes, but from small, persistent efforts. The mountain market had taught me patience. Tomorrow, I'd rise early, ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring.

The North could wait. For now, this rugged marketplace was my teacher, and I was finally ready to learn.