the way they always do, When you're ridin' sixteen hours
And there's nothin' much to do
His wait was not a supremely significant one. But then, what was time to an aging wolf who had spent the majority of his life on the trail? Time, to him, was measured in distance traveled. Hot as it was, he could have sat in the sun all day as the little trinket below his fingers took form, the blood bay painted and creme coated horses nibbling at the grass at their feet and stamping their hooves with a mixture of impatience and uncertainty. Slivers of soft wood from the pine were sloughed away and flicked from his lap as Asgeir formed the little thing. An bird, he thought, the more he worked. This wood wanted to be an bird.
His ears pricked up at the howl, but his eye didn't waver from his project till he saw movement from in front of him. He raised his head to see who had come to see about his presence. He couldn't see much of her, just a tawny front with a redder mane, and clearly in Secui form. He heard her ask if everything was alright and with a grunt he got to his feet so she could see him and so he could see her better. 'm fine. Jus' need to get through to th' other side o' your land. 'm a trader, but with no way through for muh wagon, I can't do much business. His voice was clear and audible, if not overly cheery.
He turned to his left, using the wheel as a step to get to the ground, leaving the figurine and his knife on the seat. He figured he ought to greet the lady properly, complete with a shift if she wished, though he couldn't do much work if he shifted. His tail was limp and he kept his eyes properly averted. He'd learned in his youth the best way not to do business, and while sarcasm and snark were not usually punished, outright disrespect tended to be. He stopped next to Sunny's shoulder, patting it gently.
You just wish the trip was through
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