Watching Jormand’s slow descent in the back of their little wagon, all alone except for the sound of the ongoing storm was an exercise in self control for Lana. There was nowhere for her to go, she dared not brave the storm again, and looking away from the miserable man just made her feel callous. It was not her responsibility to look after Jormand but watching him reduce from brooding displeasure at the weather to dejected silence to helpless sobbing there in the wagon, practically on top of her in the tight quarters, made her feel like she should try to do something. In turn that sense of duty made her uncomfortable and eager for his crisis to end. Uncomfortable because of how painfully intimate it felt. She had seen him naked before, certainly seen some extreme emotion out of him during fights she had witnessed, but this was different. She knew that she should not be the one to comfort him. His own brother was only a shout away, and he seemed close with the old soldier Elyas, but something told Lana that he did not want their company at the moment. That only made her more unsure of what to do. Had their positions been reversed she would not have wanted him to be the one to comfort her. Even after spending a week with him she hardly knew Jormand Derran. He was beyond private, boarding on overtly hostile at times. At best he was a slightly friendly block of stone, at worst… She did not like thinking of what he was capable of at his worst. She knew the type of man he was, his kind were all too common in the seedier parts of Maerin. Men all too confident in their strength, men who would take whatever they wanted without resistance. He had not raised a hand against her yet, but something told her that he would not hesitate to if given a reason. Still, it did her no good to watch him suffer and if she was to die in that wagon, he certainly knew how to make it quick.

Shuffling across the scant wagon floor that was not piled with supplies, blanket held tight to conserve warmth, Lana picked her way across the pace or two of space that the narrow space afforded her. She stayed low to the floor, telling herself it was to keep her blanket from letting in any gusts of chilly wind, it had nothing to do with the part of her mind that urged her to press herself against the wall opposite Jormand and be prepared to run. The familiar weight of her knife on her waist calmed her worries a little. She hoped that she would not have to use it but its presence was reassuring.

Lana had managed to avoid the worst of the rain. She had escaped with her clothes relatively dry, a wonder considering the downpour they were trekking through now. It still made a constant drumbeat against the canvas roof, droplets big enough that each one was distinguishable from the chorus. Jormand had not been so lucky. Even now, after a few hours in the wagon, his shirt and trousers were wet to the touch and his bare feet were shriveled from soaking in rain-filled boots. When Lana draped one side of the blanket across his wide shoulders, he barely even registered it, which was to the good as far as she was concerned. She settled down again, slowly warming the bare wooden wagon floor as she did her best to stay close to Jormand without disturbing him. Lana’s blanket was only so large, so, as cold and damp as Jormand was, she pressed herself to his side. It did her little good. His skin was icy to the touch and his racking sobs and shivers had her shaking too and rattling against the hard wooden floor.

Even hunched over as Jormand was, Lana felt diminutive at his side, her head barely reached his shoulder and she sat significantly straighter. His shaking that seemed nothing too intense with his bulk made her feel as if she would be launched out of the wagon at any moment. She hunkered down and waited and eventually she managed to achieve some small amount of comfort.

Jormand’s shivers faded as Lana sat huddled at his side. She did not think it was all to do with the cold. His sobs too began to slow, gradually. Each one ever so slightly weaker than the last, until she could barely hear them at all. It took hours. So long that the dim, dreary light, was beginning to fade by the time that his breathing steadied. Still she did not move away. Though damp, Jormand was warm now, surprisingly so, and as long as the blanket kept out what wind the wagon cover could not, Lana valued warmth over dryness.

The cacophony of endless rain drowned out any sound that might have come from outside the wagon, even the wheels were rendered mute, making the wagon feel strangely still and sealed off from the storm, far away from the occasional booms of thunder and bright flashes of lightning. It was not altogether unpleasant. Strange as it was, Lana found the constant sounds soothing, like a baby being rocked to sleep at night. She had spent many a rainy night huddled up under a slight awning or in an abandoned building, usually filled to bursting with others seeking respite from the wet and cold. Those nights had never been comfortable, much less pleasant. She rarely slept and woke quickly when she did. The threat of a knife in the back or worse had always kept her on edge. Now, even though the man next to her could easily crush the life from her, she felt safe. Safe enough that when she began to doze, she only fought it for a little while.

She was awoken by a jolt as the wagon came to a stop. It was dark inside but she could see unsteady lantern light filtering in through the canvas covering from Elyas’ bench at the front of the wagon. They had chosen not to stop before sunset like they usually did, probably to make up for time lost in the storm. Lana immediately noticed how quiet it was. The rain was not altogether gone but it had lessened considerably. Enough that Lana could clearly hear voices outside, some of which she did not recognize. Immediately she shifted into a crouch, shedding the blanket over her shoulders and drawing her knife from its sheath at her waist. Jormand did not stir, even as a rush of cool air filled the small space Lana had taken up. She considered waking him but she recognized Gisela’s voice among those outside the wagon and it seemed unconcerned. It was not enough to entirely calm Lana’s nerves but she elected to leave Jormand to his rest.

Lana moved as quietly as she could towards the back of the wagon. The entire wooden structure creaked as she did but the sounds could have easily been attributed to the horse shifting about. She tried to minimize them nonetheless. The ties that held the canvas flap at the back of the wagon were undone already and Lana peeked her head out slowly so as to not draw any attention.

It was difficult to see out of the wagon. The remaining rain disrupted what little Lana could see around the only source of light in her vision, a vague smudge of a fire that sputtered pitifully under a wide tarp suspended on tall poles to give cover from the rain. Around the fire were the people whose voices she had heard from within the wagon. There were at least five others in addition to Gisela and Ketrim. Elyas was nowhere in sight. The strangers were all dressed in simple but clean and dry clothes, surprising given the day’s rain. Ketrim and Gisela by contrast looked like a pair of ruffians with their muddy boots and rumpled, wet clothes. They were all speaking in easy voices and were focused on their conversation.

Lana slid her knife back into its sheath, reasonably sure that she would not need it and then slipped out of the wagon into a crouch on the muddy road. Immediately her drying clothes were wetted again but she did not notice. Her attention was all on the wagons that surrounded the people and the fire.

To begin with, the wagons were massive, easily twice the width of the one she had spent the day in. They were taller as well, with wooden roofs and walls that even had small windows cut into them she thought. It was difficult to tell in the dim light but there looked to be small sets of shutters on the side of the closest wagon. She could not see the fronts of any of the wagons clearly, they all pointed towards the fire, but she caught a glimpse of what looked to be a door on the front of one, like a tiny house made entirely of wood.

There were five of the odd house-wagons in total, all of similar size and construction but even in the scant light of the fire, Lana could tell there were some differences. The one across from where she crouched away from the fire was alternately bathed in light as the people moved about and she could see some simple carving along the frame of the door and the small window that stood closed next to it. Lana had never seen such a strange contraption before. They really did appear to be tiny houses, supported by wheels nearly as tall as she, rimmed in thick bronze. She began to creep closer, keeping out of sight by hiding behind one of those wheels. It was an easy enough feat given its immense size. As she neared, she got an even better look at them. She had been right, those were shutters on the sides and there were chimney’s protruding from each top as well! Starting a fire within an entirely wooden and no doubt cramped space seemed to her like a foolish idea but at least the one she hid behind had a small plume of smoke coming from the chimney. It was quickly dissipated by the rain but she was sure it was there.

As she neared the fire, the voices of those around it became cleared. They carried a little ways through the rain, enough for her to understand what they said for the most part.

At the moment, Ketrim was speaking to a tired looking man who leaned on a walking stick well ornamented with carving and paint. His hair was going grey around the temples and thinning over the top but he did not look old. His plain shirt, coat, and trousers were in good condition, the kind of garment Lana would have thought luxurious before but now found herself thinking them quite drab. He was unarmed, as far as Lana could tell, as were the others of his band, but Lana still did not like their odds if it came to a fight.

Despite his apparent fatigue, the man seemed to be in good spirits, even talking to Ketrim, who Lana knew all too well could be grating. She could only hear a few snippets of what they said, most being drowned out by the rain, but what she heard seemed friendly enough. She decided that Ketrim and Gisela did not need her to look after them. They could handle themselves well enough should things turn ugly.

Lana carefully backed out of view behind the wagon wheel again. The rain provided good cover, she could hardly be seen or heard, but it also reminded her why she had spent the day in the wagon. The freezing droplets began to leech feeling from her fingers. She did her best to ignore it even as she felt herself begin to shake from the cold.

Ducking under the wagon --there was plenty of space for someone as small as she-- Lana was surprised to find the ground relatively dry. She could not see it but a hand to the ground felt the browning grass of autumn under her fingers, hardly damp at all. There was no mud. The wagons could not have moved since the storm began.

Slipping out from under the wagon on the other side, Lana dashed, still in a crouch, to the next strange house on wheels. It too sat over a patch of nearly dry ground and inside she could hear footsteps as well as the muffled sound of singing through the floorboards. Whoever it was had a beautiful voice, rich, deep, and strong enough to be heard through the floor that was devoid of cracks. Lana did not spend too long under that wagon. If someone spotted her there would be questions. Gisela and Ketrim might think that they were being shown everything in this camp around the fire but there was something off to Lana’s eye. She doubted the roads outside of cities could be any safer than the ones within but she had seen no weapons on the wagon owners, not a single knife or cudgel. They would be hiding them somewhere.

Her suspicions were proven right when as she passed out from under the third house-wagon, she stumbled across a smaller wagon, hidden behind the fourth house-wagon. It looked much like the others except easily half the size and without windows. The door was open and incredibly narrow, enough so that Lana doubted the man who leaned next to it would be able to fit through without turning sideways. The wagon itself did not interest her aside from the fact that it appeared to be purposefully hidden from view. The guard --for that was what the man appeared to be, cradling a spear in the crook of his arm-- was of more interest. He did not appear to spot Lana, and with the lantern hanging off of the wagon just next to him, she doubted he could see far at all. He did not appear to be attentive at all but his long spearhead glittered with rain and lantern light and Lana did not want to test him. The dash to the next wagon would reveal little else here in any case.

Lana crept back the way she came, intending to head back to the wagon where she expected Jormand still slept, but a sound in the night apart from the rain stopped her in her tracks. It was faint and muted, like everything else, but close. She turned slowly to see the source of the sound and came nearly face to face with a shaggy, wet snout.

Lana froze in place, her entire body tensing at once. Stories came to mind of the vicious wolves that prowled the uncivilized lands to the north of Maerin. Bloodthirsty monsters like massive dogs with shaggy coats that did not hesitate to prey on the men and women who trespassed on their lands. From her position under the wagon, the beast before her fit neatly into those stories. It’s face, which was all that she could see, looked much like the dogs she was familiar with. It had large ears, pricked up to hear the slightest sound she might make and a long snout ending in a wet nose that was low to the ground now as it sniffed vigorously. Unlike the strays that Lana knew, this beast had a long, shaggy coat, made to look longer from being burdened with rainwater. It was tall and thin under that coat but not like the malnourished curs she had seen before. This one spoke of the lean power of a fighter.

The wolf continued sniffing at the base of the wagon for a moment longer but eventually walked away. As it did, Lana caught a glimpse of it silhouetted against the guard’s lantern's light. It might have been a little bigger than the dogs she had seen but it was certainly not the hulking monster that stories spoke of. She was beginning to put less and less stock into those stories she had heard. Nonetheless, she hurried to be away from it.

She made it back to the first odd house-wagon without another encounter with the wolf but she caught a glimpse of it again or perhaps a different one as she crept out of the camp. It rested under the meager shelter over the firepit next to one of the women speaking to Gisela and Ketrim. She occasionally knelt to scratch the creature’s head affectionately. Whoever these people were to tame wolves, Lana suddenly felt her foray into their camp was more dangerous than she had first thought.

Back at their own wagon Jormand was still fast asleep, slumped on the floor with Lana’s blanket still wrapped around him. After wringing what water she could from her clothes and hair, Lana was more than happy to wriggle her way back under the blanket. Jormand supplied enough warmth for two people now and she intended to take full advantage of that.

The sound of the canvas flap at the back of the wagon being opened roused Lana from a near-sleep stupor. She turned about, blinking furiously to clear her eyes and gripped her knife under the blanket until she saw that the face peeking through the wagon flap belonged to Gisela. She was grinning mischievously for some reason Lana did not understand and beckoned for Lana to join her outside. Jormand still did not stir as she left for the second time.

The talks with the other band of travellers had gone well. It had been Ketrim’s idea to stop to talk with them and he had somehow managed to negotiate his way into providing guards for their caravan in exchange for some use of their wagons and the safety of numbers while on the road. Gisela’s eyes lit up when she said they would have proper roofs, or as close as wagons could get, over their heads that night. Apparently these folk carried substantial food stores with them as well as foraging what they could along the trail. Gisela was quick to add that they moved at a slower pace as well, something she knew Lana would be appreciative of. Unlike the others, Lana was not used to and had no experience with long journeys on foot. It did seem like a good plan, everything Gisela mentioned would only ease their travelling conditions. She had not mentioned the wolves though. Lana was reasonably sure that they were part of the caravan.

When asked, Gisela seemed confused until Lana pointed to the one that still sat near to the fire. Then Gisela laughed and said those creatures were much too small to be wolves which did not assuage Lana’s worries. She called them longdogs, a common sight in the northlands she said, used for hunting mainly. They were nothing to worry about. Lana was unsure, they certainly seemed large enough to cause some damage. A hungry dog could be even more dangerous than a man.

Gisela spent a moment longer assuring Lana that these travellers were perfectly safe, their dogs too, and soon the two of them were carrying bags from their small wagon to one of the five house-wagons. They passed the wagon’s previous occupants, an old man and an even older woman, many times while transporting their own belongings away. They were courteous and did not seem to mind giving up their lodgings to strangers although the woman did caution Lana not to leave the wagon’s stove unattended. A stove! In a wagon no less! It was almost more shocking to hear than to see it.

When Lana first entered the wagon, it was nearly entirely dark. The evening was progressing quickly and the light from the sun beyond the horizon was nearly entirely gone. She bumped her shins on several indistinct shapes before dropping the bags she carried onto the floor and backing out. Gisela came back with a lit lantern which she hung from a hook in the middle of the wagon’s ceiling. It was a low ceiling but not so low that they could not stand upright within. Once the wagon was lit with steady lantern light, Lana finally got a good look at the interior. Even knowing some of what to expect, she let out a little gasp.

It was as if her entire room at the Captain’s Cat had been crammed into the wagon except that it somehow did not even seem that cramped at all. The back of the wagon was taken up by two beds, one atop the other, built onto the walls. They were each covered in an assortment of plush pillows, far nicer than the ones Galier’s inn had offered. The rest of the wagon interior was equally opulent. The bench that ran down one side of the wagon from bed to door was carved around the edges with fanciful vines and leaves all painted so intricately that they almost seemed real. The other side was dominated by a table that held an inset metal basin and several cabinets above and below. It was carved to match the bench. In fact, the entire interior was, making it seem like Lana had stepped into a dense forest. Next to the table was the stove with a small fire burning in it to keep the wagon warm, and a floor to ceiling cabinet that stood open. Gisela was stuffing what she could haphazardly into it.

Lana could scarcely believe her own eyes looking over the wagon. It was far nicer than her room at the inn, she decided, nicer even than the rooms she had seen within Derran manor, as well as those she had seen at parties. Those were all austere and menacing with their pale marble beauty or sharp-edged gilding. This little wagon was welcoming, inviting, even as it displayed more wealth than she believed she could understand. Something about the delicate carving and painting spoke of quality of the same echelon as marble palaces.

Lana and Gisela were joined by the rest of their band, bags in hand and dripping from the rain a little while later. They all took the wagon’s furnishings for granted although Lana could see the grateful look on Jormand’s tired face. It would make a much better shelter than their own wagon. Elyas took one look and frowned then grumbled something about needing to look after the horse and stalked out, his bag still slung over his shoulder.

As it turned out, the wagon offered plenty of space for four. Lana and Gisela took the top bed while Ketrim and Jormand took the lower. Even though it looked to be pressed as far back as possible, the bed was surprisingly spacious. There was more than sufficient space for two, perhaps three if some of the multitude of pillows were removed. As it was, Lana was grateful for the pillows. She was comfortable enough with Gisela, even considered her something of a friend now after a week of travel, but the barricade of pillows that inevitably sprang up between them was not unwelcome.