This is what he got for a late start. A spot near the tail end of this dismal venture, with the muck of everyone else's mounts caking up the wheels on a daily basis. Just barely in front of the ox herder and his infernal bells. As if that wasn't all punishment enough, now the rabble was singing. And<em>whistling</em>. In the middle of the day!<br/><br/>Balenciorge's neat little wagon - as much metal as wood on the outside - shuddered as he tumbled out of his bunk. Hooves clacked loudly on the floorboards as he stalked to the back and threw open the shutters on the little round window next to the door. "By Oberon's overbite, will you all shut up?!" His reasonable request was accompanied by a half dozen well-gnawed apple cores hurled in the general direction of the bells.<br/>