were benign enough, and the chestnut-colored one even bumped me with its snout in what I assumed was approval of sorts.
Braylar returned with a bucket of grain and fed them. I wondered aloud why we fed the horses grain when there was grass in every conceivable direction.
“A mixed diet is best. You’re bookish in the extreme. Have you never encountered a horse before? Or were all of your previous patrons walkers?”
I ignored that and asked, “Do you need help preparing a fire?”
“We’re still not so very far from the road you were so loath to leave, and a fire would serve as a beacon for any brigands. One fire means only a few people huddled around it. And that means easy prey, yes?”
Knowing that I was likely to only irritate more, I asked, “What about a lantern?”
“By all means,” he said, “if you want to draw every raider in the territory down on us, light one. Light two! Did we bring two? If not, then one will have to suffice.” He laughed. “I brought it in the event that I must use it. If that time comes, you’ll know, because it will be lit. Not before. Record whatever you wish to record before the light fails, or wait until after dawn. Your choice. Were it mine, I would eat some of that goat and find a spot in the wagon before the whole world goes black. For one accustomed to the city, it can be disconcerting. So, sup and repose. Or starve and be fretful. The choice is yours.”
⊕
The night was mostly undone by fretting. While I enjoyed seeing new cities and locales, I never really enjoyed the travel between, and that was even with companions on a short road, with fires, hot food, and a modicum of merriment. Not all at my expense. From the university in Highgrove to Rivermost, with all the small stops in between, more often than not I begged the kindness of strangers to allow me to travel with them, and given the dangers on the road, most travelers were more than happy to have one more among their number, even if I clearly looked incapable of defending anything or anyone. But those were well-trod byways patrolled by Hornmen, and the duration was never all that long.
Here… we’d clearly left behind traffic, and commerce, and community. All the things ordinary people clung to as they moved from place to place. There was nothing at all out here, except the unknown, and large quantities of it. Emptiness in all directions. Or the appearance of emptiness. Who knew what things crept or slithered among the grass, or buried beneath it.
And Braylar was correct about the dark—I’d never seen the stars look so sharp, and the crowned moon was in its full glory, both the moon itself and its single ring bleeding bright light everywhere. Sleeping in the wilderness didn’t prove restful. The pots gently chimed against each other throughout the night. The wagon rocked on its springs, driven by the wind, and while the flaps were secured front and back, they billowed like the sails of a small ship as cold drafts found their way into the wagon and beneath my blankets.
I finally fell into a fitful slumber when I heard Lloi ride up. She unsaddled her horse, fed it, saying gentle things in her tongue, which must have been soothing, because I went back to sleep immediately. When I awoke at dawn, she was gone again. I rose and stretched, splashed some water on my face, and climbed out the front of the wagon. Braylar was finishing rolling up his sleeping mat.
After filling our bellies, we took care of the other tasks that needed tending: feeding the horses, harnessing them, checking all the straps and wheels and axle and tongue and anything else that moved for something in need of repair. Discovering nothing, we set off. I took my place alongside him on the bench and asked, “Would you like me to get the writing table? Is there anything you’d like to record or dictate?”
Without looking at me he said, “Record the grass.”
Most of my previous patrons could hardly stop their mouths—they regaled
Braylar returned with a bucket of grain and fed them. I wondered aloud why we fed the horses grain when there was grass in every conceivable direction.
“A mixed diet is best. You’re bookish in the extreme. Have you never encountered a horse before? Or were all of your previous patrons walkers?”
I ignored that and asked, “Do you need help preparing a fire?”
“We’re still not so very far from the road you were so loath to leave, and a fire would serve as a beacon for any brigands. One fire means only a few people huddled around it. And that means easy prey, yes?”
Knowing that I was likely to only irritate more, I asked, “What about a lantern?”
“By all means,” he said, “if you want to draw every raider in the territory down on us, light one. Light two! Did we bring two? If not, then one will have to suffice.” He laughed. “I brought it in the event that I must use it. If that time comes, you’ll know, because it will be lit. Not before. Record whatever you wish to record before the light fails, or wait until after dawn. Your choice. Were it mine, I would eat some of that goat and find a spot in the wagon before the whole world goes black. For one accustomed to the city, it can be disconcerting. So, sup and repose. Or starve and be fretful. The choice is yours.”
⊕
The night was mostly undone by fretting. While I enjoyed seeing new cities and locales, I never really enjoyed the travel between, and that was even with companions on a short road, with fires, hot food, and a modicum of merriment. Not all at my expense. From the university in Highgrove to Rivermost, with all the small stops in between, more often than not I begged the kindness of strangers to allow me to travel with them, and given the dangers on the road, most travelers were more than happy to have one more among their number, even if I clearly looked incapable of defending anything or anyone. But those were well-trod byways patrolled by Hornmen, and the duration was never all that long.
Here… we’d clearly left behind traffic, and commerce, and community. All the things ordinary people clung to as they moved from place to place. There was nothing at all out here, except the unknown, and large quantities of it. Emptiness in all directions. Or the appearance of emptiness. Who knew what things crept or slithered among the grass, or buried beneath it.
And Braylar was correct about the dark—I’d never seen the stars look so sharp, and the crowned moon was in its full glory, both the moon itself and its single ring bleeding bright light everywhere. Sleeping in the wilderness didn’t prove restful. The pots gently chimed against each other throughout the night. The wagon rocked on its springs, driven by the wind, and while the flaps were secured front and back, they billowed like the sails of a small ship as cold drafts found their way into the wagon and beneath my blankets.
I finally fell into a fitful slumber when I heard Lloi ride up. She unsaddled her horse, fed it, saying gentle things in her tongue, which must have been soothing, because I went back to sleep immediately. When I awoke at dawn, she was gone again. I rose and stretched, splashed some water on my face, and climbed out the front of the wagon. Braylar was finishing rolling up his sleeping mat.
After filling our bellies, we took care of the other tasks that needed tending: feeding the horses, harnessing them, checking all the straps and wheels and axle and tongue and anything else that moved for something in need of repair. Discovering nothing, we set off. I took my place alongside him on the bench and asked, “Would you like me to get the writing table? Is there anything you’d like to record or dictate?”
Without looking at me he said, “Record the grass.”
Most of my previous patrons could hardly stop their mouths—they regaled
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