-
Ice on the Tracks
“I hate the snow…” said the man leaning over the rail of the caboose of the Mainlander. The sounds of the twisting winter filled the air as the steam powered locomotive barreled through the night. It didn’t matter how long it had been since William left Barragon the cold still made him despise his homeland. As William Wilder watched the frozen tracks disappear he thought back the cold nights of family farm and wonder how life would have been there now.
Mr. Wilder was on his was to sell off three Goliath warhorses to respective nobles of Knife’s Edge. It wasn’t normal for the Wilder Ranch to travel such distances just to peddle off such a small number of horses but to Mr. Wilder’s surprise he had been offered a lager sum of gold a head than asked. William wasn’t a man to stick his nose up at a hefty profit so with great haste the stable master and a few of his farm hand booked first passage to the snowy nation across the sea. With his caravan first having to travel across the ocean and next an entire nation before reaching the boarders of the frost covered country they couldn’t pack to heavily.
It had been nearly three weeks since William and his farm hands saddled up their steeds and begun their adventure, they had to transport a total of seven warhorses on this journey so they knew from the beginning this would be a large task. Now that the majority of the journey was behind them William and the others tried to relax aboard the Mainlander and wait out the rest of their travels. The accommodations of the locomotive were minimal but at least they kept the cabins warm for their customers. It was nice and the regular passengers enjoyed it as they sat bundled up inside but William wasn’t a regular passenger. He stayed in the caboose with his mighty animals as they braved the fridge air rushing though the holes in the ceiling.
“Sir you’re going to catch a chill,” Daddle said as opening the sliding train door out to the rear of the caboose. “Come back inside. Anything is better than this.”
“Yeah,” William said as he noticed the frost forming off the end of his moustache. He turned to friend and smiling not letting her see how much he hated the snow. William treated his friends like he treated his horses, he was their leader and leaders never show their weaknesses. “How are the girls doing?”
“There all doing fine, Kanaan and the others are all huddled up and eating their hay.” Daddled answered as the two walked into the train car and she slams the door shut. Inside the caboose were seven different stalls each only barely large enough to hold one of William’s goliath mares. At the very end of the line was Kanaan, William’s most faithful companion and best friend. She was an old girl and mother to many of the horses William trades. Kanaan was large than all the other horses thanks to her being a full Hallowmane from across the sea. Her breed was large and strong which made them renowned far and wide as aggressive warhorses.
“Do you know how much longer until we reach Knife’s Edge? I don’t know how much longer I can stand this waiting.” William said as he leaned into Kanaan’s stall eyeing up his might grey steed.
“The man at the last station said it was about a four hour ride, but with this weather it’s going to be a bit longer. And that was only about an hour and a half ago. “She answered.
William sighed as he lost himself watching Kanaan munch away to her snack. With each powerful mouthful she would look up though the grated side of the train car. It might have just been the horse’s imagination but she was watching something in the darkness. William saw this in her, as he did whenever she was focused like she was now. It wasn’t anything to be worried about now, but something had her occupied. It was all Mr. Wilder needed was to get caught up now in some kind of trouble. But in any case there were many others riding this train and many others that feel the same way. It wasn’t any secret that his horses were worth a lot of gold and it’s not like you can keep seven gigantic horses from drawing a lot of attention. Only time would tell and luckily there was a lot of time to kill on this cold dark night.
-
John shifted in his bench seat, resisting the urge to get up and stretch his slightly cramped legs. Naturally, train cars weren’t made with people like John in mind, and getting up to ‘stretch his legs’ would only result in his hunched form lumbering back and forth in the penultimate train car, bumping into nearly everyone on the way. He settled for turning one of his legs outward, extending his knee into the now-vacant alley between the benches and tables, noting that nobody had been by in a while, including William.
William was, for all intents and purposes, a simple man, John thought absently. He wondered how long it would be until he was back from tending to his horses, and he’d have to move his leg back into the cramped space under the already-short table. The half-giant raised his eyebrows, still marveling a bit at the size of his mares. Warhorses, all of them, 22 hands at the shoulder a piece. Worth a king’s ransom a piece too, hence his presence in the car just ahead of the caboose.
The horses needed to get to Knife’s Edge safely, and beyond, if William had the coin and the need. Though frankly, these past few weeks had been putting a toll on him, if he were honest. Galleys and train cars were no places for half-giants.
The heady smell of hay and horses drifted forward from the caboose, reminding John of his younger days, learning to ride, feed, and care for his own warhorse. That was, until he'd grown too large for one. Maybe he could ride one of William's goliath steeds, but he didn't quite think he could afford one. It wouldn't really be a good purchase either, considering his legs got him places just fine. Though he had to admit, the walk to and from town didn't get any shorter as he had gotten older. The sapping poison of age had begun to diffuse into his joints of late, and sometimes he could feel old injuries that had healed over, scarred, opened again and scarred all over again.
No use thinking about it, John mused, snapping his fingers. With a tiny pop, a churchill-style cigar appeared between his fingers, lit and ready for a draw, which he took, letting the heavy tobacco scent fill his mouth. It overtook the smell of horses as he blew the smoke from his mouth, very lightly inhaling as he emptied his mouth, drawing a heavy aroma into his lungs. The remaining smoke dissipated, sucked through a crack in the window into the frigid Salvaran air.
His gaze wandered across the table to Rayleigh, her shock of brown hair drowning out her features for a moment as she put her hair back. He spoke to her as her face came into view.
“Stop’s comin’ up. Wanna see if William wants to grab a bite?â€
