Not to imply a history, we're only talking myth-time, but before the fifteen fifties, trade was an association with "where one was seen" or want to tread or travel, from the notion of a way or manner of life, when that meant "to motivate", not "strife". Like thrift was just an image of things when thriving, not like "striving". Before the tit or tat exchange there was the occupation, and that was just tradition, not in means appropriation.
A trade route (double positive) was the path partaken and on some more examination, seen to be repeated or worn smooth but with good reason, if only timely season or a pleasant iteration. Just like maidenhood's the time of day when Venus (middle sister of the Moirai) is sky high, and not corrupted hymen or "no copula today", not 'til you can menstruate, then sold as proper slave, which comes in modern times to post-progressive graduates. But Morning Star at birth and Evening's set shine like chimes to younger sheep, or so it seems to be that way when they frolic and play – the rest is for siesta after mother's white fiesta's flowing like the milky way.
Before commiserating mercenaries who's slaughters help the markets, commerce was the co-mercy found at a common commissary and commissars did not command from any royal court or fort nor gift of reprimand, resembled rural courtesy, said "libations all around!" and poured some port to each who might just have hit upon dry ground. There would be, on similar occasion, a reciprocation in reverse, in no wise a debt or due. Reciprocation's just a living poetical device of alternating mimicry, more like dada than an auto payment. A golden rule's unneeded when one notices surroundings: "what goes around comes around, no worries mate".
In the way of metaphor seeking after similarities one finds differences which might become long-time familiarities. "Marriage" regularity called "custom" (then made law by them who only wanted increased property), were not for wedded folk at all, but arrangements to ensure the kids will learn the stories (lays of leys) peculiar to the land and how to get some help if lost or have a hand-up on a fall, or how to grow a seed by watching beetles roll shit-balls, what to expect and when – like growing things like waxing moons and when some owls hoot it's time to move your home. We still call them "old wives tales", thinking a "withered hag or crone", to which she answers, looking of a sudden quite voluptuous "aren't we superstitious, mister high and mighty of opinion! No wonder you feel all alone when sucking after minions!"
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