it's not what it looks like
The Wishing Wagon is renowned for only being found when it wants to be. Or perhaps only wanting to be found by those looking for it? It's a difficult middle ground, honestly. Either way, Oliver will come stumbling onto it seemingly by accident, stationed in a meadow in the Greatwood. It's all packed neatly up right now, given that Remi is off gallivanting doing demigod things, and the man Oliver is looking for is perched on the step of the wagon, a carved pipe between his lips, a staff in his hands.
Ianto isn't much of a whittler, but his carving skills will only get better through practice, and so he painstakingly carves patterns into the staff and hums under his breath, his fox's tail flicking at his heel. At the sound of someone approaching, blue eyes flash up, bright as the sky peeping through the last of the Leafchange foliage. "Morning," he murmurs around the pipe, perhaps a little more suspiciously than in previous seasons. One never knew who was prowling the woods these days.
Ianto isn't much of a whittler, but his carving skills will only get better through practice, and so he painstakingly carves patterns into the staff and hums under his breath, his fox's tail flicking at his heel. At the sound of someone approaching, blue eyes flash up, bright as the sky peeping through the last of the Leafchange foliage. "Morning," he murmurs around the pipe, perhaps a little more suspiciously than in previous seasons. One never knew who was prowling the woods these days.
