You carried the mail between a few towns along the Frogeye River, taking the barge downstream every few weeks and either riding with a caravan upstream or hiking on your own. You knew plenty about how to survive, thanks to those solitary walks along the riverside, and you never lost a parcel or letter, even when it meant you spent the night fitfully trying to sleep in a rough-drawn ward circle and a hill ghost or two moaning as they dragged around the edge, their voices just on the wrong side of comprehensible and always dripping with a mix of scorn and envy. The nights of occasional stress were more than made up for by the gratitude of the townsfolk and the occasional gifts they gave you - more food than you could reasonably eat, comfortable blankets, and patching for your clothes, with no need to trade for any of it.