Harta obtained two things he grew to value very much: A mask to cover his snout when out in the sun, and a journal. In it he drew maps of the networks of mountain settlements, words and phrases, and a count of the days that had passed. He had to admit, the constant walking made him feel very alive. He slowly shed pounds and appetite. He saw mostly bipeds, but other creatures of exotic shapes and sizes wandering around, so he fit in as much as he stuck out.
A day on Nalvotiier lasted roughly two days in this world, so he only slept every other night here. The other nights he watched the stars. He learned from astronomy books all the constellations in all hemispheres, and tried to follow the stars in this world to see if there were any familiar arrangements, hoping he had at worst landed on the other side of the planet. There was the occasional rough match of arrangements of stars, but all the stars surrounding them didn't agree. This place was entirely new. He felt hollow, punished.
He continued trying to make the best of his time here, picking up work where he could, but hungering for where he could use his strengths. He held a few cut and polished rocks. "Since there's currency, there must be a mint," he thought. "Or at least a bank." He asked around with what little words he knew, but the closest thing they could point him toward was a marketplace.

Following the directions, he arrived at a colorful group of banners and tents. He watched goods and currency change hands and learned what things were worth. Salespeople called out to him. "I speak little," he said. One booth beckoned him anyway. The cloaked figure inside held out a tiny jar of jam to Harta and said, "Eat. No cost." Who could say no to a free sample? Harta gulped down a fingerful and frowned. "Bland," said Harta, "and the texture isn't right."
"Well, people don't value it for its taste," said the stranger.
Startled, Harta listened around and found that he understood all that was being said around him. Barterers flung numbers as though in his own language. "Incredible," said Harta. "How? What ingredients made this?"
"Trade secret. As I'm sure you can appreciate."
"No mere trade secret. This is a miracle. Only the gods..." Harta wondered whether he was talking to a manifestation of one of the Eight. There were ways to know, if only he knew the holy books better. Either way, this was someone to deal with. "Sir, my name is Harta Zheen-Ki, economist for Zheen-Ki industries on our world of Nalvotiier. It's been 23 days and my family has no idea where I've gone. I need to return there now."
A pause. "You're from another world, you encounter a miracle the likes of which you've never seen... and the first thing you want is to go home?"
A pause in turn. "Eventually, yes! I need to be back within one year or..."
"You haven't yet lived here long enough. If you go home now, you'll just revert to being the same person you were before. And how has that been working out for you?"
Harta thought, what do you know about my life? But he was talking to someone who could very well know everything. "Not well. But are you suggesting that the blame lies with me?"
"I don't know. Who do you think it lies with?"
"Everyone to some degree. But mostly Father."
The cloak chuckled. "I see. A skilled negotiator that can't even negotiate with his own family."
A fuse lit inside Harta and his voice dropped. "Some things are not up for negotiation."
"Hm. Then I suppose our business is concluded." The cloak retreated into the shadows of the booth.
"Stop!" he yelled, as though at a subordinate.
They stopped.
Harta took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Listen. Please. Can you send me home or not?"
"Depends. How did you get here in the first place?"
"A misguided prayer..."
"Well, if the gods sent you, only they can bring you back. And I suspect they will in due time."
"Once I've changed. Sufficiently. Is that how it works?"
Harta could just barely make out a grin on the shaded face.
"One more thing," said Harta. "Can I learn your art?"
The stranger drew the curtains of the booth, saying "It would take far longer than the year you have."

One benefit of this extended unasked-for journey is that it gave him ample time to think out loud. He paced around in Hetherev's night, his midday. He found a great supply of energy in a kind of potato that grew here and there in the mountains.
"What would it matter if I returned? Do any of them even miss me? I know Arni is celebrating, and they've probably all hired someone to fill my spot." He spat. "I wonder what's more of an embarrassment to them: a bachelor or a deserter. I know what's more embarrassing to me."
He paced while he ate his roasted potato. "What I wish Father would understand is sincerity. In trading you have to get people on your side, you have to gain their trust. The favorable deals come naturally. There's nothing wrong with a little bluffing and maneuvering, of course, but outright lying? That starts wars. So why he is asking me to lie so blatantly with my life and enter a loveless marriage? How do I get my heart to produce real love for anyone?"
He stood still.
"Maybe that stranger has a jam that can do that. One that's tastier too, hopefully."