Bump. Bump. Bump.
Rocked went the carriage from side to side. The rock was significantly becoming rougher and rougher as the 3 hours passed.
The bumping continued as Pen's head unwittingly broke away from the woody surface, before knocking it back with hard force, waking the stupefied Pen roughly from his supposed-to-be-peaceful slumber. Pen muttered 'ouch' under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. Quite a good awakening, had he leaned away hours earlier.
Pen winced as if it had produced a headache, then he stared at the window. It was now approaching nightfall as the sky became pervaded with orange-red, and black clouds. He was blank about the distance now, since he just passed by the sign hours ago, which could have been vital for him to decipher how far he was now.
Still there was no sign of snow, though it gave Pen the smallest idea of his distance. He was still far away, much to his impatience. Although he was not much of a horse expert, he had bothered to ponder if the horses were needing of rest, the accident seemingly made him forget his talk of the Akhal-Teke's endurance. Restless now, he opened the front window just behind the empty rider's seat and poked out to check at the horses. The only thing he saw they do was just land their iron hooves on the rocky ground and let go. He attempted to check their eyes if they were weary, but he would risk falling out of the carriage himself. He alternatively observed their motion to see if they started to slow due to fatigue, or if one horse would stumble for a second, but those equines. They never seemed to stop, never seemed to fall. Their expressions since the first time he met them were basically iron, same as before, same just now.
This was a bit of boredom, now that he was awake. He couldn't do magic to amuse himself or the horses, or he would risk blowing up the carriage. Well actually, it would be of no major deal to him, for he could simply fly without the help of horses, but he was concerned for the horses. Leaving them was basically killing them.
Something suddenly seemed to illuminate ahead of the road, he and the horses could notice. Then what would be a very familiar structure of wood beside it.
"A tavern." He said.
Pen worked his way through the small front window to the rider's seat. There he sat and took hold of the reins, and pulled them, repeating "Stop!" until the horses would obey. They stopped right by the lone fence, to which there stood the lamp and another sign besides.
"I wonder where's the lead?" Pen cautiously opened the door, then checked the little storage just at the rear for any lead to fasten in case these horses tend to wander when left.
"Hmph, no lead." He spoke to the horses in front with his hands on his waist. "I suppose, ka, this is a matter of discipline, self-control and responsibility. I am giving you the freedom for now, to choose to do anything you wish, EXCEPT wandering off your post. I want to see, by the time I return, you all in your proper positions. Well, just run for your dear life if anything predatory happens to come by, I can fend myself, but take care."
He looked in uncertainty at the horses who appeared to listen vividly, slowly backing off towards the tavern. "Ok? Do you get me? Ok, see you."
He fast-walked to the tavern, not waiting a response from the horses.
At first, he pushed hard open with his normal humanoid force the door. His face looked assertive and savage as his eyes scanned around the tavern. But then slowly, they turned back to his usual curious and normal expression as there was nothing to be seen, living. Not even bugs or insects aside from the flies hovering over the abandoned, rotten food.
"...Hello?" He lay a palm on the first table. It smelled of liquor and rice, but both were truly foul, and Pen quickly removed his hand from the surface, pulling out some cologne on his other pocket and sprayed with it. His voice earlier echoed through the tavern, as if the tavern itself was essentially a cave.
"Hello!" He repeated again. Yet there was no reply other than his echo. The entire tavern was completely devoid of animals. Some tables were flipped. Some of the walls were seemingly scratched, and nearly all the chairs were unfixed in position. Much of the bottles were overturned and spilled, and only those tables whom had a candle were bloated with flies. All these, they were already enough to instill Pen with a sense of dread as he walked through the crooked aisle heightened on alert. There he already unwittingly played a music in his head, one of loneliness, creepy isolation.
What happened here? He asked in his mind. It surely didn't seem to be the right place to be in as the night was approaching, except if he could tidy this up and remove everything creepy, then make it his temporary inn for a few days before hitting the road, which he wasn't so brave to do with.
He wanted to leave and resume to road, but a greater part of his was curiosity.
And it always won over his fear in the end.
