A cold and ominous breeze combed over the expanse of fading grass and through the milky coat of the so-called Duchess, who set her teeth as she walked, swift steps to warm her blood. Now she was out of the woods, she was wishing she'd brought her expansive leather coat, despite its weight. She'd be happy if she could make this her last long journey before the cold really set in, being highly unwilling to re-enact her torturous travels during the last snows. Compared to that, these few days could be described as a walk in the park, if it wasn't for the fact that the word 'park' was just about obsolete. In any case, the journey so far had been straightforward enough. After leaving the Court more than a day before, she'd already made it back to the cliff-studded forest edge and the rock that would be her waiting place tomorrow - but this time her path had gone further still; having given in to the temptation to explore further, while she had an excuse to travel in the North. Keeping the mountain range mostly in sight and close, she'd skirted around a border that she'd known to be a pack, just in case it was the one that Denver had warned her away from. Then, after more than a day of scrambling through the rocky foothills, she'd come to a river and been forced to change tack. Now, she was listing South again, as well as a little towards the way she'd come, leaving the river behind - she wouldn't be able to continue to follow the coursing water and still retrace her steps in time to meet the mutt. And goodness knew if he'd wait for her.
This terrain was flat with broad horizons, making Caspa feel tall and prominent surrounded by little but wind-whipped grasses. These allowed a good view, but she couldn't shake the thought that the same would go for anyone with a view of her. Tight braids allowed no hair to obstruct her vision, but she was still excessively watchful, head turning often to inspect all angles with quick, birdlike movements. When she first noticed the rusty spokes sticking up, a shiver ran over her entire body before she could tell herself the strange object wasn't moving.
She approached the grass-tangled jumble of metal warily: a dead bicycle, frame and wheels still attached, but in every way a poor example of a machine. It lay next to a cracked yet once perfectly smooth cycle track, narrow and straight, but Caspa still had no idea what the odd contraption was for. Nevertheless, the bicycle would never glide along the path again: too many important bits had dropped off - not to mention the cataclysm the human world had come to while it lay abandoned. The oblivious wolf-dog's eyes were only on the spokes. They looked long, thin and interesting, and maybe useful, if one could think of a way to detach them, or cared enough. She considered for a moment, kicking the tyreless wheel absent-mindedly, to spin with a sad creaking noise. This was definitely one of the strangest objects she'd ever stumbled across.
.fred-caspa { font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif; font-size:10px; line-height:15px; padding-bottom:23px; text-align:justify; width: 380px; margin:0px auto;}
.fred-caspa p {text-indent:15px;}
</style>[/html]