She's never seen a Roman road, although she's heard things, read things: things in poetry and plays, the whispers of Classical learning and culture that filter through society to her. If she mostly knows of Rome from Shakespeare and poetry, she does know something. And she knows roads are important, that proper ones take time and organisation to make. Even dirt paths need energy. Normally, a village like this, the paths and roads are fine, normal, expected.

But if they are improving things, well...

Everyone goes to the Inn.

Mr Gracchus talks and she tilts her head a little as he stumbles, tries to find the right word.

"Cart," she says, moving her hands together but leaving a space. "A wagon is bigger," here she pulls her hands apart. There are a number of other contraptions, she knows, she's driven some, but it's not important. No sense in confusing the man for no purpose. "Yes, it's just feet we have to worry about here."