Sam has introduced me to our carriage driver, Charlie. He is a man with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. He has the darkest skin tone of anyone I've ever met. His teeth are so white they nearly sparkle when he smiles, which is often. He is a direct counterpart to the dour Sam. If opposites attract, then it is no wonder they are such fast friends.
Charlie drives a two-horse team hitched to a rusty old car that seems to be held together with wishes and duct tape. It bears the text "Cutlass era" across the trunk. We have filled the trunk and most of the back seat with supplies for our journey, so we ride in the front. Sam graciously lets me take the seat with the still-intact seatbelt while he braves the rough roads ahead without protection.
I am given to understand these contraptions were once called "horseless carriages." If I try, I can almost imagine them trundling through the once-whole roads that are now cracked and pitted. The careful observer will note that they are not constructed with horses in mind. The contraption must be cut nearly in half in order to be adapted for carriage use.
Charlie is originally from Gardin, a town few day's travel to the west of here. Gardin once marked the border of a place called "Yellow Stone" which was a park of some sort. Now the mountains run rampant with animals touched by Jack Frost.
The first winter snowfall was today. We will take shelter until daybreak.
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