Ice on the Tracks

[redford]

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?”