FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The creak of the wagon, the gentle rocking as it rumbled down the road in its steady rhythm, the soft birdsong and warm sunlight seemed to pull him ever deeper into weariness as he reclined in the open back, among the cargo. Nestled between a box that smelled of sweet spice and a few bolts of linen, tendrils of sleep plucked at his limbs, threatening to drag him down into that velvet depths with each passing moment. Luckily the cart driver afforded him no peace, chattering away as he lazily held the reins of the oxen that pulled it along. His guiding hand was almost unnecessary; years of plodding down the same road, the same route, time and again, the beasts likely knew the path and schedule as well as, if not better than, the man who sat upon the seat just behind them. The gray haired man in the back of the wagon wondered amusedly if the driver was even needed, and took some pleasure in imagining the cart simply being loaded up and sent on its way with only the ox to carry it safely to its destination. This thought would have been his dream if not for that driver's rough voice reaching through the veil of slumber.

"... in Tarrensford?" "What?" The passenger inquired, bolting up from his near-sleep. "I said, 'do you got family up in Tarrensford?'" "Oh, uh... no. Well, not really... A cousin." "Cousin, eh? Some kind o' special occasion or sommat?" "No, just... just checking in. Mother always said to keep an eye out for my little cousin, so I come 'round once in a while to see he's doing alright." "Good man. 'You can always tell a man's worth by how much he listens to his mother.' ... Or so me own ma used to say." Finding some humor in that, the driver chuckled into that big, bushy beard of his, which his passenger thought looked as if some small brown sheep had crawled up on his face, decided it liked it there, and never left.

Silence fell amongst them once more, and the gray-haired passenger turned his attention for a moment to the rolling countryside around them. Foothills of grass as green as emeralds stretched out for miles, giving way to forests and then mountains to the northeast. The road followed them up and to the west, to every major and minor city, town and hamlet that claimed home against that range. This far south the lands were more suited to woodcraft, logging, hunting, the like, while the towns up north were all farm and ranchland as far as the eye could see, from Halain to the Sapphire Sea. From what his bearded friend had told him, Tarrensford was somewhere in the middle of the two, and downriver to the west. A few days travel by oxcart, faster if he availed himself of the ferry that traveled those waters, which he fully intended to do, if only to get away from sheep-face. Above, the golden disc crept slowly towards those mountains, and in a few short hours the land would be covered in the long shadows of those silent sentinels. He could once again feel the mistress of sleep tug at him, pulling him into her warm, silken embrace, but he could not yet be seduced into that good rest... not yet.

"How long to Halain?" "No worries, my friend, we'll make it 'fore nightfall." Sheep-face answered easily enough, with the same sureness of those plodding oxen. "I heard tell that wolves run these hills at night." "Wolves run these hills in the day, sur." The driver answered with a expecting peek over his shoulder, clearly wanting for a frightened reaction but failing to garner one. "... Not this time of year, though. Fall and winter's the hard seasons, wolves, and bears come down from the mountains... and worse, if you believe the old-folk talk. ...Eh, no offense." It was the passenger's turn to chuckle to himself, his rare smile raising creases around his eyes. "None taken."

Silence again, and the driver kept it this time, figuring the old man he carried had finally fallen to sleep, gods knew he looked like he needed it, if only he could keep quiet long enough to find it. Why his passengers were always so talkative, he never knew. This one didn't fail that expectation either, as soon enough that voice rose from the back. "... What do the old-folk say come down from the mountains?" "Eh? Oh. You know, usual stuff. Spirits of the wilds, giants, the howlers... Same things all old folk say come from strange places." "Howlers?" "Don't you have howlers down south?" "No." "Oh. Aye, howlers. Another kind of spirit, 'tis said." Despite his casual discrediting of 'old-folk talk', sheep-face seemed clearly uncomfortable talking about it, or so the passenger thought as he watched from beneath his deep hood. That gravely voice seemed to weaken slightly as he continued. "Said they call a man out to the winter, take him in the freezing cold until he dies of it, then crawl into his body to make him come back home and drag out his family into that same cold. Then they all come back and grab their neighbors, and then their neighbor's neighbors. Said that when the men come back, they howl like the mountain wind. Howlers. Me? I say 'tis just some story some fella come up with after coming across a town frozen over. Winters get so cold up here, men can freeze standing upright. Probably saw some of those, heard the wind, called it a howler." "... Sounds awful." "Aye. Thankfully, they only exist in old tales." "Old tales are more dangerous than you think." At that, the driver looked back at gray-hair, but he was apparently done talking, having turned his eyes to the increasingly interesting-looking floor of the wagon. With a shrug, sheep-face turned his attention northwest again, towering spires striking into the sky like thin fingers, as the shadows grew.