Myrist woke up in a fine mood, stretched out on the padded bench in the front cabin of his carriage. He pulled up the second plank that made the bench wide enough to sleep on and stowed it under the seat, then set to rolling up the canvas that blocked other peopleâ€™s view of him while he slept. Heâ€™d only let down two of them this night, not wanting to discourage anyone that needed him. After tying the bundles neatly to carriage roof, Myrist pushed on his hat and circled to the second truck in the caravan to fill feedbags for the horses and give them their breakfast at the lines. He left the feed out so that tall girl could feed her bull.<br/><br/>There his good mood started to fade.<span style="font-style: italic">Damn that hobbit.</span>First he had refused to tell what was hidden in the other two wagons, but that was okay, because heâ€™d payed Myrist an extra some of money to stop asking questions and for his word he wouldnâ€™t search them. That was fair enough by his book, but then the arrogant little twig had refused to let Myrist set up his own caravan with his own drivers and his own guards. Paying one of the soldier troops heading down the same road a small sum to slow to a wagonâ€™s pace and share a camp with them at night was even too much to ask. Myrist hadnâ€™t even met anyone he was to travel with until they were gathering outside the gate. And to top it off, the full party didnâ€™t even show up. He ended up having to leave just to make the pass by sundown.<br/><br/>So, yeah, heâ€™d spent the first two days in a bit of a funk. The first day was enough to know that maybe two of the people that half pint had sent him could actually<span style="font-style: italic">possibly</span>be guards; the two drivers heâ€™d been forced to take were stuck up, mules of men; and not a person outside of himself and those two mules were actually prepared to live away from a town for more than a night or two. This whole thing was ridiculous. He just had to keep reminding himself that he signed a contract and was being paid plenty to deal with this all. Between the halflingâ€™s pay and however many more â€œgood red stonesâ€ he could work out of the dragon thing that wandered up the first day, Myrist would leave this trip with quite a sum.<br/><br/>That was<span style="font-style: italic">if</span>he left this trip. Today they would be entering the areas rumored to have goblins and the dragon-ish monster was proabably the only thing on this caravan that had killed before. Myrist just wished he knew what side the beast was on.<br/><br/>But he would never trust a dragon; nor an elf nor a goblin nor a halfling.<span style="font-style: italic">Thatâ€™s the fastest way for a human to die.</span>he thought to himself as he strapped on the feedbags and started walking around the outside of the camp, checking for signs that someone had snuck in at night. He would have to be careful for the rest of the journey. That meant organizing the camp at night and making sure at least one person had a strung bow at all times while they moved. Heâ€™d have to teach them how not to die.<span style="font-style: italic">Sigh.</span>And that meant talking to them.<br/><br/>The bull girl was up by the time Myrist finished his circle. He spent a moment vainly reaching for her name but could only remember that of the bull. So he gave up and grabbed a pan and some water containers from the carriage and walked to the stream a few meters from camp to fill them up and wash his hands and face. He could hear her playing a ukulele as he played in the cold water and thought about how the instroment didn't suit her at all, and how, then again, a ukulele didnâ€™t fit anyone, so maybe it was the perfect instrument for the giant woman that road a bull. Myrist laughed despite his mood. Maybe the music helped bring that out; he loved traveling with musicians.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">No, I should say I love traveling with </span>good<span style="font-style: italic"> musicians.</span>he corrected. There was, after all, a big difference.<br/><br/>Dropping the containers by his carriage, Myrist grabbed a bag of dried oat meal and fruit, as soon as he got back, and brought them over to the fire with the pot of water and a wooden spoon. He put the pot on the metal stand they cooked with every night and poured the oats in without waiting for it to boil. Myrist was a lazy cook, but he bought good supplies. Sitting down next to the girl, the still grumpy guide stared into the fire for a few minutes, soaking in the awkward moments before finally interacting with his charges after two day.<span style="font-style: italic">What is the least awkward way to break a two day silence?</span>he wondered. It seemed a bit too late for a â€œhelloâ€ or â€œSo, whatâ€™s your name?â€ What then? Stare staight into the fire and say something like...<br/><br/>â€œI was surprised to see your bull keeping up. I almost made you leave it behind.â€<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Yeah, that was less awkward.</span>Myrist mentaly punched himself for saying that outloud.<span style="font-style: italic">Iâ€™m going to crush that weasel of a halfling when I get back to Aborline!</span>