All too soon, the wagon rolled away with Oar Ellis as the sole passenger. Sam waited until the wagon passed out of eyesight, then heaved a great sigh and started opening our luggage. Her sudden anger confused me, and I had no clue what she might do next.
After opening the luggage, the Trader rose to her feet and scanned the landscape, pulling her hat off and running a hand through her short hair. "Start packing what you can into this big one here. I'll try and find us some sturdy branches."
I glanced nervously at the simple building looming over us. Sam's gunfire had turned the thing that had been Anthony Morales' head into a pile of red mush. The rest of his body was still inside, however. Who knew if some other random body part would come to life and attack when my back was turned. What colorful insult would Sam have to come up with if she came upon my body, beaten to death by a knee?
My black humor helped lighten the quiet burden of terror the house had thrust upon me. Sam reloaded the gun, flipping the chamber back into place with a flick of her wrist. She flipped it around, grip toward me. The simple wood grip was polished with age and the natural oils of the skin. I reached out to grasp it, proud that she would trust me with such an obvious heirloom.
Only to have it spin out of my reach and into Sam's holster. I looked up into a toothy white grin. Sam turned away and reached out to Looms, patting the creature fondly on the neck. "Ol' Looms here will take care of you." The horse snorted and shook his head, pawing at the ground with one razor-sharp hoof. "Besides. You'll shoot your eye out, kid."
With that parting shot at my maturity, Sam disappeared between the tall white trees. I rummaged through my books, pulling them out and sorting them into piles. When I had a whole wagon at my disposal, every volume seemed as necessary as the next. Now that I had only Looms' strength to rely on, Wildflowers of the West seemed less important than an incomplete copy of a ragged survival guide.
Eventually I was able to narrow down my resources to the limit Sam had set. Just in time, as the resourceful Trader emerged from the forest with two long branches. She used some of the things I had cast aside to build a contraption of some sort that attached to Looms' saddle. A travois, I realized, finally able to put a picture to a word I had only read. Sam loaded the heavily reduced baggage onto the travois, then paused, glancing back at me.
"Don't suppose you know how to ride a horse?"
"I know how. Doesn't mean I have to like it." Still, when Sam stepped aside, I swung myself into the saddle. My toes were fully healed from the break the last temperamental horse had given me, but they still ached if I put weight on them for too long. Sam took the reins and started leading us down the broken black road.
The scenery dragged on, hills slowly disappearing into rolling fields of gray. Looms' rolling gait acts like a gentle lullabye to my strained senses. It became a struggle to stay awake. In order to keep my eyes open, I entertained myself by composing poems about Looms. The cold sun has started to set by the time we arrive at the outskirts of a city called Slender Falls. The twilight is odd here, the light fades in shades of grey, as if the Tall Man abhors color.
In an attempt to cheer up Sam, who has become progressively dour the further we get into the town, I recite my ode to Looms.
"So much strength within a breed
Like mare, like foal, a man assumes
And I ain’t seen a finer steed
Than that noble gelding Looms
Ride on past the fields and mills
You’ll find me with my dappled roan
Braving heat and wind and chills
‘Cause I can’t handle them alone
...also he doesn't break my fucking toes."
I'm not one for cursing, but when I do Sam's lips twitch slightly in a smile. For the quiet Trader, that is high accolades indeed.
I apologize for ending this so abruptly, but I must stop for the night. I am weary from the day's travel, and have been struggling to keep my eyes open while I transcribe the rest of the day's events.
I will note one thing, before I stop for the night. Everyone here hides their face. Masks and veils in the street; the clerk at the hotel stays behind a pane of smoked glass. The entire city practically defines the term "faceless masses."
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