Tobin

Prelude Six

Read before Chapter 23 of Stone & Sky

The sun was bright in the early morning as Tobin sat on the bench outside his family’s cozy home. The hill country outside of Galium always looked beautiful this time of day. The early risers like himself milled about, getting a good start on their chores, whistling happy tunes to themselves.

“Good morning to ye, Tobin!” Ganmen hollered to the halfling.

“And to you, Ganmen! Haha! It’s to be a beautiful one, I’m sure!” he yelled back, waving his long pipe at the dwarf, stirring intricate smoke wisps through the air.

Ganmen was a blacksmith with a smithy located in the greater Galium township. He walked by Tobin’s home, which was carved into the hillside, every morning on his way to work. The dwarf had always been kind to the halfling, and they smiled and waved to each other every morning when Tobin was in town.

Tobin was a happy halfling. He was plump from good eating and merriment. He was married to the most beautiful dwarf in all of Tarrine; just ask him. He and his wife Lenor had a beautiful little girl named Button. They lived in a wonderful hillside home that boasted views of the Drelek mountains to the north. From his bench in the friendly hillside community, he could even see the great Galium Keep built straight out of the side of a rugged mountain. He always loved the way that the morning sun shimmered and alighted the view before him.

Yes, he was a fortunate halfling.

His hairy feet swung merrily just above the ground as he puffed away at his favorite pipe in between sips of coffee. Lenor had acquired a very nice roast from one of Galium’s vendors in the Gerome Market. The birds chirped, matching his jovial mood. The front door swung open and closed behind him.

“I thought ye had to leave early?” Lenor asked him.

“Yes, my love. But I had planned to travel alongside Georl this route. He seems to be running behind. I thought I might enjoy the morning air. Enjoy a pipe, you know.”

“Ah yes, enjoy your pipe before you travel on to Crossdin, enjoying it the whole way,” Lenor said sarcastically.

Tobin smiled at his beautiful wife. And she was beautiful. A lovely dwarf, by all accounts. Many of the dwarven men of Galium had been interested in her hand, but her heart belonged to a halfling named Tobin. It hadn’t been a popular decision, but Lenor was a woman who knew herself and what she wanted. Though Tobin was shorter than most dwarves, save for a few great exceptions that if shaved could pass as a halfling themselves, their love was greater than his stature.

Her brown eyes were light in the morning sun and her brunette hair shone just right. Her hair was done up in a typical dwarven fashion, lacing and weaving, held together by stone beads to resemble a net.

“Button is drooling on herself, sleeping with her hind end straight up in the air. Snores like a plains bear, that one,” Lenor chuckled as she stood behind her husband and rubbed at his shoulder.

Tobin smirked, “Takes after her mother, she does. I’ve always—Ouch! Only joking, my love!”

Lenor pinched him again for good measure, but smiled at her husband, nonetheless.

“Perhaps I’ll sleep better while yer away,” she teased.

“Can’t imagine it. I’d wager it’ll be the worst sleep you ever have. Not that I’d wish that on you, my love. But of course, you’ll just miss me so terribly. A wagoner’s wife must always pine for her husband while he’s away. Makes for good balance, I’d wager. Can’t have too much of a good thing. I—”

“Like pipe weed or coffee,” Lenor said, swiping the mug out of Tobin’s hand and taking a nice, long swig. “Ah! That is good,” she teased behind the steaming cup.

“Well, that’s just rude. I know you must have learned some manners. Your mother always liked to remind me of my own manners. Certainly, she taught you some—”

“Tobin Keeland!” Lenor warned. But her wide grin betrayed the feigned threat.

Tobin’s wry smile spread from ear to ear.

“You…” Lenor did her best to bury her grin and leaned over to kiss her husband before he could get himself into more trouble. Though she would not admit it, she enjoyed the game.

Down the dirt roadway, wagon wheels crunched on small rocks and shifting pebbles. Tobin turned his attention down around the neighboring hill.

“That’ll be Georl, then,” he said with only a hint of sadness. He would prefer to stay and play the day away with his beloved wife. But a wagoner must travel.

Wagoners were necessary, especially in their corner of the world. There was an active wagon route between the great dwarven city of Galium and the port city of Crossdin, which rested on the west coast of Tarrine on the Tandal Sea. They hauled goods and wares regularly between the two cities and made the trip every few days. It was good, honest work.

The halfling hopped down from the bench and turned toward his wife. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding the mug of coffee. She was several inches taller than him, and from this vantage, seemed to be looking down at him with displeasure. An uncomfortable smile crept across his face, his teeth clamp down hard on his long pipe, still smoldering.

Lenor grabbed the pipe and pulled it out of her husband’s mouth. “Ahem…” She cleared her throat expectantly.

Tobin let out a sheepish chuckle and stepped up on a nearby rock. He brushed the hair from the side of his wife’s face and planted a nice, big kiss on her cheek. Lenor returned the kiss with a surprised and unsatisfied look. “Ye can do better than that.”

Tobin’s eyebrows popped with joy as he leaned in with more passion and laid one on her lips.

“Ah. Much better,” she said, returning the halfling’s pipe. “Ye better hurry, now. Georl gave ye a late start, and it’s a long road.”

“We’ll make good time. The wagon is light for this stretch. Some wares from the merchants at the Gerome Market and some grains for the millers in Crossdin.”

“Well, be careful nonetheless. I always worry when you are out there traveling all alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Georl will be with me.”

That did not inspire confidence. The dwarf had been wagoning for nearly 300 years, but he was getting slower in his old age. And he was old by dwarf standards. Though she did not know his age exactly, she guessed that he had to be near 350. If they ran into any trouble along the road, it was more likely that Tobin would be the protector of the two.

“Ye’ve packed some meats and the biscuits I made yesterday?” Lenor asked, poking at Tobin’s round belly.

He rubbed at the spot she poked as he laughed and replied, “Yes, my love. I always pack heartily. This belly doesn’t miss very many meals. And I wouldn’t want to start now! I’d wager I’ve got enough food to last me two weeks if I got in a pinch. You know, a happy stomach lends well to a happy ride. And the journey is as much a part of the experience as the destination. I wouldn’t want to—”

Lenor stuck a finger out to stop her husband. “Off with ye, now. Georl will pass ye by and forget the plans ye made together.”

Tobin laughed at the thought. “I might be able to walk faster,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Tobin Keeland!”

“I’m sorry, my love!” He laughed as he turned and hustled toward the stable where he had already prepared the wagon.

He pet both of his horses’ snouts as he did one last check on the reins. They stood tall above him, but he was good to them, and even though the horses seemed mighty by comparison, they respected the halfling a great deal. Tobin climbed up onto the front seat of his wagon and clicked to the horses, who started out onto the road without hesitation. The horses knew the road as well as the halfling at this point, and the trust between them went both ways. It was not uncommon for him to nod off for a short nap along the road. Unless he was transporting a passenger, of course. Then there would be loads to discuss!

“Good morning, Georl!” Lenor waved to the old dwarf from halfway up the hill where the door was cut. “Swift travels to ye!”

Georl let out a garbled grunt, which was his way of saying “thank you.”

The old dwarf’s single horse wagon effortlessly fell in line with Tobin’s. And off the pair went. Tobin turned to send his wife one more kiss, which he blew off the end of his hand, knowing that this was the last moment she would be able to see him as they rounded the bend.

Lenor reached up to catch the invisible kiss and placed it to her cheek. She watched while Georl navigated the road and disappeared around the bend, enjoying the rest of the coffee she’d taken from her halfling husband. It was a beautiful morning, and she planned to go to the market today and talk with some of the other ladies.

But first, she needed to go and wake up her little bear cub.

The day’s travel had already been rather long. Tobin had already burned through several packed pipes and a couple pounds of rations. It was always difficult to caravan with Georl. The old dwarf moved slowly, and his single horse wagon moved slower still. While most halflings were quite flippant with their time, they weren’t known for their patience. Traveling with the elderly dwarf was a test for Tobin.

They were drawing near the point where the road veered away from the mountains out across the hills toward the northern-most edge of Elderwood Forest. The trip would take them two days to get to Crossdin. That was the difficult part. Tobin could make the trip in a day and a half without the old dwarf, but he felt responsible for him.

Georl’s children had grown and moved to different places many years ago. The old dwarf’s daughter had moved to Crossdin with her husband. And if Tobin remembered right, his son had moved down south to Tamaria, looking for new opportunities to make a life for himself where people didn’t know him. Tobin had never met them, but Georl had told him the stories back when the dwarf was prone to such things. The old dwarf’s wife had passed away some years back. Tobin had apprenticed with Georl as a favor to his mother, who had been Georl’s wife’s best friend.

Though Tobin grew up with his father and mother and had wonderful relationships with them, he saw Georl as a bonus father. One that had taught him so much in years past. Tobin had learned the ways of the wagoner quickly, though, and soon gained an even greater reputation than his teacher. Tobin prided himself on hospitality and giving his passengers what he called a “wonderful journey experience!” The result was returning travelers between Galium and Crossdin asking the depots if the halfling was in town and available. The halfling was quickly able to afford better materials and another horse to upgrade his wagon for a greater yield.

As they moseyed along, his horses deftly navigated a stubborn stone that had never been removed from the well-kept road. Tobin turned over his shoulder and shouted to the old dwarf wagoner, “Splinter Stone on the right, Georl!”

The old dwarf waved him off, but Tobin wasn’t entirely convinced that Georl remembered the road so well anymore. Not to mention, the old wagoner’s eyes had started to cloud as of late. Even if he didn’t remember Splinter Stone—so named for what it had done to so many wagon wheels—he probably couldn’t see it in time to shift his wagon safely.

Thankfully, the dwarf’s wagon missed Splinter Stone by a hair. Tobin sighed in relief and shook his head. A splintered wheel would have cost them an extra day, and they already had to stop at the wagon camp, something he didn’t always have to do.

A couple more hours passed without event as their wagons traversed the road through the hill country west of Galium and north of Elderwood Forest. The sun was beginning to set in the distance. As they crested another hill, Tobin could see the campfires of the wagon camp. He sighed in relief, packing his pipe for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Georl, wagon camp ahead!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

Georl waved him off again. He was a stubborn old dwarf.

The final hill rolled easily into the wagon camp. Some dozen wagoners had set up for the evening. They all knew each other, for the wagoners met often and helped one another along the road when one would run into trouble. Though they weren’t always on similar schedules, they would often caravan together from the depots in Galium and Crossdin. The wagon depot was where potential travelers and merchant types would find them for transporting people, goods, wares, or any other thing that might need to move from one city to the other.

The wagoners didn’t always caravan together, but if their schedules aligned closely enough, it was wise to do so. Bandits were not a huge concern, especially when wagons traveled in a group. But while it was rare, the occasional band of thieves would move into the area and steal from a solo wagon. Tobin wasn’t terribly worried about running into bandits himself. He had a rather craftily designed crossbow tucked in the compartment under his seat that he would be happy to introduce to any bandits who thought him an easy target. But he and Lenor worried for old Georl. Recently, Tobin had done what he could to caravan with the dwarf from Galium to Crossdin if possible. It often did not line up coming from Crossdin to Galium though, because Georl would always try to see his daughter before heading back to the great dwarven city.

“Tobin! Georl!”

A human woman waved them over as they entered the wagon camp.

“Hanla!” Tobin waved back and steered his horses to an open area near the woman’s own. “How is the fire tonight?”

“Already cooking,” Hanla replied with a laugh. “I’ll throw another leg on the spit.”

“Thank you kindly! It’s been a long ride today.”

Georl grunted a greeting to the woman when he was close enough for his old eyes to recognize her. His horse followed the others and sidled over next to Tobin’s, happy for the rest.

Tobin hopped down from his wagon, extended his round belly, stretching his back and then rotating his hips side to side. A nice pop clicked in his spine, and he shuddered involuntarily at the euphoric feeling. After attempting to help Georl down from his own wagon, who stubbornly refused the halfling’s aid, the two joined Hanla around her fire. She had already been cooking some fresh antelope meat that she’d acquired while she was in Crossdin.

The halfling’s eyes grew wide as his stomach suddenly grew emptier. It looked and smelled delicious.

As the sun had continued its descent, the halfling and the woman enjoyed catching up. It had probably been a couple of weeks since they’d run into each other. They talked of their travels, trying to figure out how they’d missed each other on their routes so long. They talked of the various goods and passengers that they’d transported recently. They talked of Hanla’s father, who had been sick for a while but seemed to be on the mend.

Tobin didn’t waste a moment. He’d spent all day in near silence, save for the songs he sang to himself and his horses along the road, and the moments when he couldn’t stand it any longer and spoke to himself. Between every bite, he edged out more words, just happy to have someone with whom to converse.

Georl ate very little, but enough to fill himself. He grunted a “goodnight” to the other two before he climbed up into the back of his wagon and wrapped himself in an old woolen blanket that his wife had woven for him many years ago. His snores came hard and fast—almost the moment his body thumped down in the back of the wagon.

Tobin shook his head and smiled. He watched the fire dance between him and his friend and wondered how many wagon campfires the old dwarf had seen in all his years.

“It is good for you to caravan with him,” Hanla said.

“Lenor worries for him.”

“And you don’t?”

The halfling shuffled his hairy feet closer to the fire to warm his toes. “I do… he’s a stubborn old dwarf.”

“If you were rounding 350 years old, wouldn’t you be?”

“Ha,” Tobin laughed. “I suppose so. But I would likely be a corpse reanimated,” he said in his spookiest voice.

“Yes,” Hanla chuckled. “Well, you’re stubborn now. Hard to imagine how stubborn you’d be then!”

“Me? Stubborn? I have the jolliest of spirits. Have you ever met a human?”

“Yes. But we only have about 80 years or so to be as stubborn as possible if we live to a ripe old age!”

“True enough! That’s why you must live well now!”

“Oh, I’m living,” she replied, leaning back on her elbows and staring up into the wide night sky. A sea of stars pierced the darkness like a billion paint splatters across one of legendary painter, Jiliana Torver’s masterpieces. And yet, even the master painter had fallen short of the grandeur they now witnessed out on the hill country road.

“I suppose we are,” Tobin said, uncharacteristically speechless.

Eventually, they tamped out the fire. Hanla excused herself for the evening and Tobin made his own bed in the back of his wagon with a number of furs and pillows with which he traveled.

For a long time that night, he lay with his hands behind his head, watching the stars far above him. Occasionally, he would spot a shooting star and wonder whether or not it was a dragon that had flown too far away from their world and gotten lost among the stars. There hadn’t been any dragons in Tamaria in his whole lifetime—and quite a few more lifetimes before that. But it was fun to daydream about such magnificent beasts.

And suddenly a dark winged silhouette of a creature cut through the night sky headed north.

Was that a dragon?!

When Tobin had sat up, shaken his head, and reassessed the situation, he got a much better look at the flying beast and recognized it to be a wyvern of Drelek. While dragons had been extinct for a long time, wyverns were very much alive. The orcs of Drelek had many squadrons of wyvern riders. The creatures looked like smaller dragons, with no front limbs and significantly smoother scales. Their knobbly horns were far less spiky than those of the extinct dragons, and the wyverns couldn’t breathe fire. It would be tempting to think that they were not dangerous comparatively, but their horrible teeth and ripping claws on their feet would tell a different tale.

Tobin’s mouth went slack as he watched the creature and its rider fly north toward the mountain range in the distance. In all his time on the road between Crossdin and Galium, he had never seen a wyvern rider so far south. He swore that he’d seen some silhouettes of a squadron, way in the distance, flying drills over the mountain range. But he’d never seen them this close to Elderwood Forest.

He did not understand, and as he laid back down in his comfortable nest of a bed, he wondered if he had truly seen the creature. The beast was long gone from view, and his tired eyes could have been playing tricks on him. Maybe it was a big bird. Maybe an eagle doing some night hunting for rabbits or the like. He had been daydreaming of dragons, so it was entirely possible that he had dreamed the whole thing. Who would have believed him, anyway?

The next morning, they were off again. They said their goodbyes to Hanla early after some breakfast around the campfire, Georl giving her his signature “goodbye” grunt. The two wagoners pressed on toward Crossdin, wanting to get to the seaside city well before the sun set.

Tobin led the way again, slowing his horses occasionally to make sure they weren’t leaving Georl in their dust. It was another beautiful day and the halfling happily gnawed on the end of his pipe in between bites of another breakfast from a sack that he kept close to the front of the wagon where he could reach it. He wouldn’t want to come home too skinny. Lenor would worry over him.

While the traveling was slow, the day’s journey proved rather uneventful. They passed several wagoners going the other direction as they went. Tobin waved his pipe with a happy smile and tried to get as much conversation as he could out of each wagoner they passed. Georl issued his most polite “salutations” grunt to each of them.

They had left the edge of the forest far behind them as the road curved away toward the northwest coast. Crossdin was a rather sizable seaside city. There was great fishing in the chilly Tandal Sea. In fact, Crossdin supplied most of the fish for Galium and even the elven city of Loralith in Elderwood Forest. The braver dwarven merchants of Galium would acquire the fish and transport it to the grand elven city via the forest road. It was an ancient forest filled with all kinds of mysteries and monsters. The trip was not for the faint of heart.

Tobin had never been tempted to take the route. He was quite content with his wagoning on the northern road.

Crossdin came into view in the distance, and the halfling stretched his hands behind his back, rotating at the waist until he got a nice pop in his spine. Perhaps he would upgrade his driver’s bench with some more cushioning. That thought appealed to his comfortable “experience journey.” Certainly, it would not be bad for him to enjoy the journey with his customers.

They rolled easily into town via the wagon route. Houses and barns and stables lined the street that bustled with people doing whatever work was theirs to do. The wagon depot was down near the dockyards, a central place for most of the commerce in Crossdin. Unfortunately, this late in the day, he and Georl would only be able to unload their haul from this leg of the journey. They would wake up early to make their way to the wagon depot to see what new hauls were available, headed back to Galium.

The wagon master waved to them as the pair parked their wagons in the designated area where they would be unloaded. “Tobin. Georl,” he acknowledged them. He turned to one of the teenage boys next to him and scolded him. “No. I need you to unload Kenton’s wagon next so he can get settled at the stables. He’s been here too long already.”

The place buzzed with action as humans and some sturdy dwarfs worked around and alongside one another, moving all sorts of wares and goods to their appropriately marked stalls. Crossdin’s wagon depot was rather chaotic compared to the depot in Galium, but their system worked.

The wagon master, Dahl, worked closely with the dockmaster to coordinate all transport needs. Fish was the city’s greatest export, and moving the vast quantities required a well-organized logistical cooperation between the two masters. Though master Dahl was a rather funny looking dwarf—he was balding on top and had hair patches that stuck straight up and on either side of his head behind his ears—the wagoners showed him great respect in their interactions. If one wanted any wagon work in Crossdin, they had to get it through him.

Finally, Dahl turned back to the weary wagoners. “I’m sorry about that. I trust you had swift travels?” He asked absently, ruffling through some papers that he held in his left hand, looking for something specific.

“Yeah… swift,” Tobin lied. “But we ran into Hanla at the wagon camp. That was nice. For some reason, we hadn’t run into her for a while. Funny how you can travel the same road, but if your timing isn’t quite right, you’ll miss each other. She had this great hunk of antelope that she was cooking. Said she got it from a local Crossdin hunter. Might have to have you introduce me. I’d like to get some to bring home. I’d wager Lenor would be able to cook up quite the pie with good meat like that.”

“Mhmm…” Dahl replied, not actually hearing a word of it.

Georl sidestepped Tobin and handed Dahl the old wagoner’s transport parchment that marked all the things he’d brought to Crossdin.

“Thank you,” Dahl nodded, and snapped toward a nearby dwarf who had come to get his next wagon assignment. “A couple of sacks of grain and letters.” The wagon master paused and looked up from his papers. A sad glint in his eyes. He mustered a smile and said, “You know, Georl, the way folks have been sending their letters by pigeon and raven these days, not sure how much longer you’ll have letters to transport.”

The old wagoner smirked, shook his head, patted Tobin on the shoulder, and walked away.

“I’m pretty sure there will always be a need for someone to deliver letters,” Tobin piped. “See, as long as there are folks who want to talk to the ones they love, there will be letters. And pigeons aren’t the smartest birds. And ravens can’t be trained to go everywhere. There are some folks that live out on the plains. How would they get their letters without messengers? I remember a long time ago when I was just a quarterling, my father once told me—”

“Do you have your transport parchment, Tobin?” Dahl interrupted, handing Georl’s to the waiting dwarf, who instantly headed for the wagon to begin unloading.

“Ah, yes. Here,” Tobin handed it over. “I always keep it in this pouch for safekeeping. You never know when you’ll run into weather on the road. And then, of course, there’s been times where it rained so hard that it soaked me through my cloak and all the way into my bones. Never been colder than that. That was before I got a thicker cloak for such occasions. But got the pouch too because I didn’t want to have another situation with a destroyed transport parchment. That’s never a—”

Dahl held up a thick dwarven finger in front of the halfling, halting him mid-sentence. He hadn’t heard anything that Tobin had said, but instead scanned the parchment, finding everything to be in order. “Trenth,” he called to one of the teenage humans. “Go ahead and unload Tobin’s wagon, please.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said, taking the parchment and hustling toward Tobin’s cart.

“Any chance you have any unassigned travelers needing a ride to Galium for tomorrow?” Tobin asked with more hope in his voice than he intended to show.

“No. Three requested. Three assigned.”

The halfling clicked his teeth and scratched at his wild, curly hair. He couldn’t help but think that he might have been able to get some travelers if they had arrived sooner.

“Alright. Well, if any come up, I’ll be trying to head back to Galium tomorrow. I’d rather not stay two nights at the inn. Lenor promised that she would make lamb stew if I hurried home. I’d wager there’s not a halfling or dwarf in the world that would want to miss that date, you know. I’m thinking it might be—”

“We’ll do haul posts in the morning like we always do,” Dahl said, interrupting what he expected to be the start of another long conversation with the halfling. The dwarf liked Tobin just fine, and he found him to be a quite capable wagoner with a reputation for taking good care of travelers. But the job of wagon master did not lend itself to elongated conversations. Suddenly his eyes brightened as another wagon came rolling down the road in the distance, giving him his out. “Ah, well. Excuse me Tobin. I must finish this before the next wagon gets here. Good night.”

Dahl walked off, sorting through his parchments as loading folks came running back to him after completing their tasks.

Tobin joined Georl back at their wagons, which had been unloaded in impressive time. As they moved their wagons toward the stables, the halfling smiled and gnawed on his pipe as he spoke to the old wagoner out of the side of his mouth. “You think Dahl ever takes time away from the depot? His wife must not be very happy with him. Then again, I’ve never known him to be a very good conversationalist. Perhaps she prefers it this way. I’m thinking that…”

At a certain point, Tobin spoke more to himself than the old wagoner. It was strange how quickly Georl could get his solo wagon to move when he was ready to turn in for the evening. He would certainly race off—as fast as an old dwarf can shuffle his short legs—to see his daughter and his grandchildren. Tobin guessed that Georl would want to stay in Crossdin for at least two nights. He always did. But the halfling would gladly take whatever hauls he could get tomorrow and be on his way home.

The next day, Tobin joined another halfling wagoner as the first ones to the depot. It was important for them to arrive early enough to get near the front where Dahl, the wagon master, would be calling out the haul posts. Being a bit shorter than dwarves, they needed to be where the wagon master would see them when they wanted to claim and take on a haul.

Human and dwarven wagoners also came into the depot as everyone began to gather for the posts. It always felt to Tobin that Dahl used his authority to make everyone wait and recognize his importance. The halfling didn’t blame him, of course. The wagon master was constantly running around, trying to coordinate many different tasks all at the same time. It was probably the best part of his day. A quiet moment before the mayhem.

As the haul posts were announced, wagoners from all over the room would yell out, “Here!” to signal that they wanted a particular haul. Dahl merely called them out and handed each transport parchment to one of the depot workers, who would run it to the wagoner. “Here” was the only thing one could say to get a haul. If a wagoner tried to say anything more than that, another would call “Here” and the original would be passed over. It was a particularly difficult game for Tobin, but he’d learned the rules over time and figured out how to get his hauls.

He had also created for himself quite the reputation with passengers, which afforded him other opportunities when someone needed transport last minute. He always left a little after midday from Crossdin just in case he could get a late passenger. It did not ruin his plans. Without Georl, the halfling could make the trip quicker and had no problems wagoning through the night. And anyway, passengers were worth it. Not only did they bring more coin than hauls, they also offered the halfling new conversations to be had! And he could hardly put a price on that.

Tobin had hoped that Dahl would call out a new passenger request. But when the dwarven wagon master was getting down to his last few parchments, the halfling took one that sounded good enough.

He left the depot and went back to the inn to enjoy another breakfast and had a wonderful conversation with a local human who just so happened to be a huntsman. Not the same one who’d sold the antelope to Hanla, but apparently he’d seen plenty of the animals recently.

Tobin took his time to walk around Crossdin, knowing that many of the other wagons had been in a hurry to get their hauls and get on the road. But the halfling walked around the city, taking in the sights. When he went back to the depot, it would be less busy. Not quiet by any means. But less busy.

He walked down to the docks and skipped rocks with a couple of kids who marveled at his great talent for it.

“It’s all in the wrist, you see. If you fling it just right, I’d wager you could hit that ship just outside the harbor! I once knew a dwarf—strongest I ever met—and I bet he could skip one of you right across this water,” he teased.

“Wow! Could he skip you too?!”

“Ha! No way,” Tobin replied. “I’m much too round!”

They all laughed and chatted for a long while. It made the halfling miss his little Button. He moseyed along until it was time for lunch and headed back to the inn. This time, he filled his belly to bursting with bread, a berry jam, and a delicious hunk of local cheese prepared by a dairy farmer who lived just southeast of the city. Tobin asked the barmaid to give his compliments to the farmer as the halfling prepared to leave the inn.

Suddenly, a couple of fishermen came strolling into the place, talking boisterously over one another.

“Right out of the sea!”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Where do you think they come from?”

“Who knows! Better question is how?!”

“You say that they sold their boat?”

“Yeah! Saw Lonnie and Kelt rowing it away.”

“Where are they headed?”

“Who knows…”

Tobin had heard all that he needed to hear. Perhaps these new strangers were in need of transport to Galium. And he just so happened to know the perfect wagoner to take them there.

The halfling hustled back to the wagon depot and found Dahl, shuffling through parchments and handing out instructions to his workers, who buzzed around.

“Ah, Tobin. You’re ready to load?”

“Yes, I’m getting ready to leave. I heard—”

“Well, find Trenth when your wagon is parked. He’ll load up your haul.”

“Right. I’ll do that, of course. But I heard that there may be some passengers that need transport to Galium.”

Dahl stopped. He looked away from his parchments and his eyes landed on the round halfling in front of him. “And where did you hear that?”

“Uh, well… you see. I was at the inn having a wonderful lunch. Had a wonderful loaf of grain bread and some sort of berry jam. The flavors were muah!” the halfling kissed his fingertips and opened his hand in a magical flourish. “And the cheese… Did you know that you have some amazing cheese farmers here in Crossdin? Honestly, I was so surprised that I told—”

“You know what?” Dahl said, raising his hands in surrender. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, I can have them?”

“The strangers already talked to the dockmaster, and he gave them your name.”

“Wonderful! You’re too kind, Dahl. I don’t care what your wife thinks of you. Well, then again, I don’t know your wife. But I’ve been thinking that since you spend all your time here at the depot, she’d either be less-than-pleased with you or she’d be rather pleased about the circumstances because you are not the best conversationalist I’ve ever met. But I like you just fine.”

“Mhmm,” Dahl nodded, looking at his parchments again, having heard nothing the halfling was saying.

Tobin practically skipped to the stables to prep his wagon and horses. He only made it about halfway before he got a little stomach cramp. But he hurried along nonetheless.

The halfling did not know anything about the strangers, nor did he care. He only knew that he loved being a wagoner, especially on trips when he had passengers.