The Taleweaver

On the road, part thirteen

That night Arthur slept better, even though he wept from time to time. It hurt, but it was like a festering wound opening, and even though he didn't understand it himself he was taking a giant leap towards healing. He dreamed of his dead family. This time, though, the dreams weren't nightmares but memories from a time when they had been laughing together and nothing bad seemed possible.

He woke early, stiff and cold in the morning. As the days grew shorter each morning seemed to be a little colder and a little more damp than the one before. A long day lay ahead of them. It would be a harsh ride with very little to eat, but the prospect of a hot meal, a warm bath, and a soft bed was alluring enough to bring a thin smile to his lips.

Dreaming of his loved ones had soothed him somewhat. It still hurt, would probably always hurt, but at least he admitted he was in pain, and healing took yet another step forward. Maybe coming here was the preparation he needed, more so than Harbend's outburst the night before, maybe not, but with healing pain as a companion he finally allowed himself to journey to another world, an inner one but more exciting than any a space ship could reach.

He checked his horses while Harbend went over their wagon. One wagon and six horses. Arthur was glad it would be over after the day. He hadn't understood how much work the wagons added until now.

The mare he saddled whinnied and he gently stroked her. She'd turned out being just as easy to ride as he'd hoped. He started whistling and was still whistling when he was finished and ready to take to the road again.

Harbend gave him a suspicious look, but Arthur just grinned as he helped his friend. They didn't talk, but the mistrust from the day before was gone, and with rising spirits they started moving.