The Traveler

Instantly troubled, sticking out is the flatbed wearing good tires which means the trailer is cared for and putting together reasons why this is, finds that it is ticket time. “Slot eight. In you go.” Just like that, goods are penned.

Never been one to liking crowds, he finds himself muddled with others basking in the same boat as all of them are stuck to being witnesses to some dude saying goodbye to a hog.  After the touching separation, the gate slams shut which gets the guide to start yelling out precise instructions. “All those registered, follow me. As for the rest of you, walk due south to the bidding zone.” That said, the man in charge, goes to walking off as the first in line follows after.

During his wait, he notices two no, check that, three have started up conversation. Of the three yakking amongst themselves, two are burly men sporting that coveted beard while the third is a grey-haired woman. Him observing to long, she catches him looking and without warning, she breaks away from her counterparts as with each foot falling gracefully in her approach, it is after reaching her comfortable safe zone, that she puts up her offer. “Willing to trade for is two barrels of mulberry wine and a keg of homebrew.” She didn’t say it, but he knows she is after the mule. Winter is coming and more than likely after pulling its weight, food the mule will become. Chewed bones tossed aside, contrasting, not one will hear the loneliness of the other woman’s heartache. His answer is all about remaining quiet as the old woman gives up and returns to more pleasant company.