“Not allowed painkillers until they’re done with my blood.” Handy grimaced. The town was alive with chatter, news about the daring escape from the mine spreading as fast as you’d think exciting news spreads in a sleeping seaside harbour town like Spurbay. What was alarming were the embellishments. Pony grapevine was some wild shit. After they passed the third stall with a collection of fillies gushing over this or that mine worker, twice removed, cousin in law who stared down a golem, two diamond dogs, and a dragon as the mountain threatened to erupt into a volcano, Handy decided to pick up the pace. The townsfolk were now shouting over to the two of them to try to get them involved, and he was getting uncomfortable with the looks he was gaining and the adoration in the eyes of school foals.