the way they always do, When you're ridin' sixteen hours
And there's nothin' much to do
Asgeir mumbled something that might have been The pleasure's mine but even in proximity X'yrin would have been hard pressed to have heard it and distinguished it from a cleared throat or an unintelligible rumble of affirmation. What could be heard was his returning introduction. Sangi'lak, eh? He grunted once, storing it away in his memory. 'm Asgeir. Been wandering since I w's but a yearling. Seen plenty in my day. I'd thank you kindly for your help.
He watched as the lady looked over his wagon, likely trying to discern how great his need for thoroughfare was. Within a few moments she'd turned back to him, her words questioning that it was only him. He nodded, then clarified. Myself; Sunny, my mare; Speck, the stallion there; the wagon, o' course, the cargo in it, an' a passel o' weapons an' tools. I've got a knife, a spear, and some chisels that are sharpest. He wouldn't make a secret of them. That wouldn't be very trustworthy.
He walked over to the wagon, which stood as tall as his shoulder, and withdrew the heavy spear. Every bit of nine feet long, the handle was worn from years of use. The tip was shaved to a point and fire-hardened. He held the spear loosely so X'yrin could see and then laid it in the back of the wagon gently. Would you like t' join me? he asked as he motioned to the Springfield wagon. The seat was plenty big enough for two passengers, and he could always move wood for her to ride in back if she so preferred. On the other hand, he would not have been so quick to ride along with a stranger who might mean him harm, either. He would not be offended if she chose to travel on her own four paws.
You just wish the trip was through
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