Segar Anolia kept pulling at his cart as he made his slow, ponderous way into what had once been a small town. The structures had collapsed, the roads had been torn apart by the earth itself. A deep, rock-strewn ravine was shouldered on either side by stone foundations, suggesting that it was the dried up husk of a small river rather than a fissure opened from the earth by some madman. The land around the town was a desert, whatever had dried up the river had dried up the land around too. Segar knew this well, as he had crossed that land on foot, pulling at his cart.

The man stopped to gather his breath, panting and sweating. His back to the wooden boards of his cart, he wiped his forehead with a dirty sleeve. Years of manual labour and deprivation had hardened him from the comfortable, overweight craftsman who had lived before the War of Power, but still the work was hard, and the sparse food and water he allowed himself to consume left him not as strong as he should have been. He was thinner, wiry and tanned. And he was not getting any younger, either, as his greying hair and beard displayed. His mouth was dry, his throat burned with every searing breath.

Someone was staring at him, hidden behind an empty window frame. Some people had evidently returned to this town after whatever calamity had dried up the land. Towns had things in them, things that could help people survive. There would be more around.

Segar forced his way back to his feet, and started looking through the stock heaped within his cart. He knew what these people wanted, what they needed. He withdrew a waterskin, and after taking a small swallow, held it up for whoever was hiding to see. "I have water!" he shouted. "Come, take what you need, give what you can!" It took a moment before someone walked out, holding a makeshift spear. Others followed, with clubs or knives or other weapons. Segar did not react. He was no Aiel, but he still followed the Way, those weapons would not be needed. He hoped it was only because they were afraid. It would not be the first time he was robbed of everything he had. The loss of the horses was the worst, none of the automated vehicles functioned anymore, and nobody could spare beasts to pull his wagon. He'd had to start pulling around this smaller cart himself after that first theft.

But he was fortunate, and the locals were only too glad to have something to drink. "There hasn't been a drop to drink in days," one of the men told him. "If it doesn't rain soon, we'll probably have to leave," another informed him. That notion seemed to worry the people. The were brigands and Trollocs and Aes Sedai out there. Many thanked him for the water, but most were too exhausted to say anything at all. Children hid behind their parents, men still clutched at their weapons, such as they were. They still looked at him with distrust, and Segar was saddened by that.

Still, after they were finished drinking, some of them started feeling guilty. There was hesitation, but some stronger wills managed to convince the people to give something back. The merchant smiled as the townsfolk went back inside the ruined houses and came back with all manner of valuables. Nearly every gathering had something they could afford to give. Here, people came out with clothes and blankets and offered them into the wagon. There were broken furniture pieces that could be burned, dried roots and bark and insects that could be edible. Some found whole or mostly whole pottery, goblets, cups, glasses, things that might have been valuable before the Breaking when gold and silver were considered of worth, but were now useful only because they could carry water. A few had ter'angreal that they could give to Segar, items that either no longer functioned without the standing flows, or that nobody here knew how to use. Knives and scissors, paper and books, all sorts of things that someone, somewhere, would be able to use to survive.

That is what he did. He took things people could spare and brought them to places where they were needed.