Silas rubbed down the powerfully muscled creature standing in front of him with a thick brush, the dense bristles producing a relaxing shhhh sound as he applied strength to it. He didn't have a problem with pushing as hard as he could - Sal was incredibly tough, and he wasn't worried about her getting hurt. If anything, the massive varamil didn't seem to think he was pushing hard enough.

She was tall, six feet at the shoulder, and dense as all get out. Powerful muscles rippled beneath her white wrinkled skin, spiraling patterns in a rich purple color etched into the leathery skin. The designs were especially concentrated around her broad shoulders and ridged spine, gradually fading in intensity the further down her back they went. Her thick, round legs were the size of tree trunks and didn't have any toes to speak of. Her waist slimmed as it reached her rump, where a medium-length tail gently swayed, a small tuft of tough hair growing from the tip. A long, curving horn sprouted from the center of her long forehead, golden etchings twisting around it all the way to the very end. Instead of ears, a pair of barely noticeable slits were located on the sides of her head, with two wise, yellow eyes closed in happiness as Silas rubbed her sides.

The stable was a relatively small one, but well-built and cozy. With a shallow-angled roof and sturdy oak walls, a thick layer of cotton serving as insulation in between the dual boards, the building was designed to be comfortable for whatever animals Jonas and Silas might have. Next to the wide stall, a row of shelves was covered with various tools and equipment to take care of its enormous guest. An hourglass-shaped saddle was hung up on the wall, masterfully crafted from tanned leather and shaped specifically to Sal's back. Three pairs of foot-loops hung from the swooping curves that made up the seated part of the saddle, a polished wooden pommel mounted to the end of it. Small motes of dust floated around the stable, dancing and spinning lazily in the morning air.

Setting the brush down, Silas dusted his hands off, speaking quietly. "I bet that felt good, didn't it? But I'm gonna need ya to carry us to Troutbeck in a bit. How's that sound?"

Sal lowed softly, and Silas smiled. "Heh, I thought so. I've got a feeling you want some more, don't ya?"

Gently, she nudged him, and not for the first time, Silas appreciated the incredible strength of his faithful mount. Patting her neck with his callused hand, he told her, "Sorry, but I've gotta get you ready for the trip. Shouldn't take too long, I don't think, and then we can get you a good-old-fashioned meal of oats, how about that?"

Sal made a sharp whuff of excitement, itching her horn on the heavily reinforced wooden pillar in the corner of the stall. Even with the iron bands keeping it steady, it still bent slightly, a creak of protest coming from its general direction. Silas smiled again, rubbing his hand in small circles on her side. "Yeah, you're a good girl all right. Let's get you ready, shall we?"

Retrieving the saddle from its place on the wall, Silas put it on Sal's still form and carefully fastened the straps, securing it to her back. Instead of reins or a bridle, he put a flat-shaped object on the back of her neck. It looked something like a four-legged spider, with easily manipulated limbs and rounded points resting on the sides of the base of her neck. The purpose of the object was simple - a good tap from the 'legs' would alert Sal of which direction they wanted. She was strong enough that a bridle just wouldn't work. She could bite through it, or even simply not notice any instructions through the delicate reins, so the relatively sharp prods would work much better.

She whuffed in mild frustration as he put the gear on, fastening the steering mechanism to the tough pommel of the saddle with a bent metal piece and hooking two flexible cords onto the sides of both the mechanism and the saddle. It would allow the old varamil to turn her head without too much trouble while still staying put.

Rubbing at the base of her horn, Silas told her quietly, "All right, girl, let's get ourselves on the road. It's still early and I don't want to get stuck on the way."

She almost purred, a deep vibrating sound that shook the floor, and he smiled. "That's a good girl."

Turning around briefly, he opened up the entire side of the miniature barn, shoving the halved walls aside with the kind of ease that spoke of long practice. The sun beamed through, forcing Sal to briefly squeeze her eyes shut, but once she was used to the light she readily ambled on past the doors. Sliding them shut, Silas jogged next to Sal and gently tugged on her horn. It was particularly sensitive to touch, so she trotted to a heavy stop.

Patting her shoulder, Silas turned around and flinched. His eyes were wide for a moment, and then he slowly gripped the base of his nose, closing his eyes. "Jonas," he asked tiredly, "Why?"

With a gigantic grin on his face, Jonas was wearing the most oversized cowboy hat of all time. Its floppy brim extended out at least two feet on either side, wobbling dangerously as it perched on his head. Next to him, with an equally large if not significantly toothier smirk, was Sam. The dragon was wearing a miniature version of the hat, two thin cords tied under his chin to hold the hat up. His horns kept tilting the hat forward and over his eyes, but he didn't seem to mind despite having to push it up with his claws every few seconds.

Jonas broke out into a burst of laughter, and Sam followed shortly, a series of breathy huffs that sent small clouds of smoke into the air. Silas threw his arms wide. "Jonas. No. Just - just no. And where in tarnation did you get those hats?"

With a casual shrug, Jonas said carelessly, "Well, you remember that time we helped rebuild ole' Pwiri's clothes shop?"

Silas nodded suspiciously. "Yeah, he said we were even. I was confused about it for months on account of - you didn't."

The end of the statement was stated it blatant disbelief, and Jonas cracked up into peals of laughter. "Your face! Ohhh, what I wouldn't give for one of those fancy cameras right now!"

Silas walked forward and squarely punched Jonas in the shoulder. "You cashed in his favor for hats?"

When Jonas nodded, Silas stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Jonas." His voice was lower now, almost dangerous. "How many hats did you get?"

Jonas grinned.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once Jonas and Sam had reluctantly switched their hats out for more sensible ones (or none at all, in Sam's case), they climbed up on Sal's broad back and got moving towards Troutbeck, fully prepared and ready to do whatever they needed. Silas and Jonas were armed with their guns, Sam had his fire, and no sane man on the planet would try and disturb Sal without a darn good reason. That said, she did have a rather large bag of coins jangling on her side, so perhaps there would be less sane men and more insane thieves attempting to approach the varamil.

As it turned out, Sal wasn't a fan of letting Sam ride on her, even with a saddle between her thick skin and his razor-claws, so Jonas had retrieved a knapsack from the house. Sam was presently occupying it comfortably, his snout poking out from underneath the top flap and yellow eyes reflecting the light.

Despite her bulky appearance, Sal was both an incredibly fast and smooth runner, and the trip turned out to be a bit shorter than they'd anticipated. After about ten minutes of sprinting full-speed past cornfields, the landscape gave way to rolling meadows and densely populated forests, the worn dirt transitioning into a cobbled road.

Silas began to whistle, the air whipping past them. It was a somewhat whimsical tune, one that managed to be both longing and optimistic, and Jonas began tapping the saddle to the rhythm. Even Sam started bobbing his head up and down to the song, listening intently.

Jonas began to sing. He had a surprisingly good voice, a baritone that carried through the air his experience and his life, as serious and cheerful as the world could ever be.

Oh, over mountains and under bridges

The roads carry our burdens lighter than we ever could.

Age grants wisdom, youth gives haste,

If we were able to go back, we would.

Through towns and cities our travels take us,

People greeting and meeting each other with a smile.

Our gray hair's a blessing they don't understand,

But we hope they'll stay for a while.

Audience to kings and emperors,

This strange tale can carry on forever.

A story of weapons, of war, of grief,

But when would we change it? Never.

Mountains and bridges carry us far

Our trials weigh heavy and hard.

But what would you do? Age catches up quick,

And living's the truest of arts.

Unnoticed by Jonas or Silas, Sam curled up tighter in the knapsack, eyes moist. Even they had noticed, they wouldn't have minded. They felt much the same.

Homesickness was a curious thing.

A few miles later, Silas stopped whistling, calling back, "All right, we're here. Everybody off the varamil!" Sal whuffed loudly as she ground to a stop, shaking her head and panting lightly.

Jonas slid off neatly, landing on the cobbles with a grunt of effort. Sam weighed a lot more than he looked, and the knapsack was heavy on his shoulders. With a casual whisper, he told him, "Hey, Sam. It'd probably be best if ya didn't show yerself for a bit - these people can be a little touchy when it comes to the creatures they don't understand, and dragons sit at the top o' that list."

Sam nodded, retreating deeper into the knapsack, and quietly growled a confirmation.

Behind them, Silas lifted his leg over Sal's broad back and stepped down easily, with probably half the effort that Jonas had used. The younger man glared at him, muttering something that nobody could quite make out.

Popping his neck, Silas put his thumbs in his pockets and stared up at the wall. Troutbeck had a decent-sized wall of hard-packed dirt, easily twenty feet tall, that had been put there by a team of earth mages a long time ago. Long enough that neither Silas nor Jonas had even heard their names spoken, whether in gossip or legend. A wooden gate was embedded in the wall in front of them, serving more as a checkpoint than any real defense.

The two guards manning the checkpoint looked bored. With a closer look, Silas realized that one of them was actually asleep, leaning on his spear, and the other wasn't too far off. He coughed loudly, and they didn't react.

With a sigh, Jonas paced forward and stood a short distance behind them. Sucking in a deep breath, he roared at the top of his lungs, "PRIVATES! STAND AT ATTENTION, YOU LOLLYGAGGING EXCUSE FOR SCARECROWS!"

The guards woke up with all the grace and charm of a hippo on ice skates, the one who had been sleeping jerking forward and tripping over his own boots. The other snapped his head up, causing his helmet to drop over his eyes, and seized his spear. Holding it backward as he looked around frantically, the helmet swiveling from side to side and utterly blocking his vision, he shouted, "Sir yes sir! Uh - wait, what were our orders!?"

His voice cracked as he panicked, and Silas shook his head. These guards couldn't have been more than sixteen, and they were given as important a job as the first defense? "Kid," he said wearily, "We could have killed you a dozen times by now."

The boy turned his helmet back around as his partner stood up, clutching at his spear two-handed. The one he was talking to flushed deeply, his shoulders rising as he pointed the backward-facing spear at them. "Stop in the name of the-" He paused with an expression of absolute confusion as he realized that his weapon was missing a tip, and flipped it back around clumsily. "Stop in the name of the law!"

Jonas snorted loudly, coming around from behind him, and the boy jumped again, retreating until his back was against the wall. "You are under - I mean, you have the right..."

He trailed off uncertainly, and Silas shook his head sympathetically. "Boy, you've been given a most serious duty. You are the first line o' defense when it comes to Troutbeck's wall, and you were sleepin' on the job."

Jonas cut in with a cheerful smile. "In case you didn't notice, he meant that literally. You were passed out, kiddo."

The guard shrank back slightly, still stammering. "I - but you - I didn't mean to-" HIs partner finally figured out what was going on, and his shoulders slumped with the realization that he'd technically failed.

Silas patted his shoulder, pulling the large gate open as he did. "Don't worry about it, bud. We're not a threat. Well, we're not a threat to you. My point is, you've got a job to do."

He seemed defeated, his shoulders drooping. "But it's so boring!"

Jonas snorted loudly, and without looking at him, Silas said, "Jonas, shut up." To the would-be guard, he continued in a soothing tone. "It might be boring, but any job can be satisfying if you do it well. Wouldn't you rather make sure everyone in Troutbeck stays safe?"

The guard nodded without making eye contact with Silas, and the older man shook him by the shoulder. "Hey. Look at me, all right? It's okay to make mistakes sometimes. Just make sure you only make the same mistake once."

More encouraged by the advice, the guard smiled. He had a chipped tooth, Silas noticed. "Thanks, sir. My name's Hal if you come back."

Silas smiled comfortingly. "All right, Hal. Me and my buddy are just gonna head inside, all right?"

Hal nodded happily, and Silas walked on through, Jonas swaggering on in as if he owned the place, and Sal stomping through as casually as a two-ton varamil could.

None of them noticed the faint ripple in the air as Sam crossed the line marking the wall.