Bagus.

Before he opens up, Bagus climbs the mountain. It's the first thing he does, while the village still sleeps and the dew is letting loose the scent of the leaves, which is when a plant tells you what it's got. He picks slowly, smelling everything, a blade of grass in his mouth, and comes down loaded right as the sun starts to bite, because the first hour is his hour. A fabric bag with long handles is exactly what that job calls for: you sling it over your shoulder, it holds the weight of the herbs, and it comes down the slope with you.

Behind his counter hangs a row of dried bundles, tied with cord: one for every neighbor he couldn't cure. He doesn't sell them or return them, and when the cord loosens, he ties it again. There's more about this elephant in his biography, in case you've taken a liking to him. Bagus carries what matters to him and doesn't let go, and a bag like this suits that way of being: room for the day's things, whatever you pick up along the way, and that one bundle you don't want to leave behind.