The gate watch had seen the dust long before the wagons came thundering up the road. Two wagons, neck and neck, jolted over the still rough mountain road as the drivers urged them on with reckless grins.

“Ha! You’re losing your touch, Felix!” Damian called, his cap nearly flying off in the wind, Silvester holding on tight just behind him.

Felix cracked the reins “Not yet I haven’t!” driving Buttercup on with stubborn pride.

Crouched low with the cargo, Mitch looked ahead, gauged the narrow stretch to the gate, and made his decision. “You’ll never make it at this pace with me slowing you down, Mr. Porter.” Before Felix could protest, Mitch lept.

Hitting the ground rolling, Mitch came up coughing up dust, but was waving and hollering as the Wagons lumbered on. Suddenly lighter, Felix’s wagon started to creep ahead of Damian’s and crossed the gate just moments ahead of him.

While the gate watch cheered, Felix stood in the front of the cart, waving and bowing to the onlookers. Mitch jogged into the fort and got a rough clap on the back from one of the guards.

“What are you still doing in the Wagon?” Damian snarled at Silvester.
“Because I didn’t want to die?”
“If that’s the case you should have jumped!” Damian took a swing at him and Silvester jumped back in the bed of the Wagon, managing to both not get hit and stay on.

Then came the inevitable voice

“By Benalus’ beard, have you both lost your senses?”

The stablemaster stormed across the yard, his face as red as the sunset. “You’ll lame our best stock racing like drunk sellswords! Look at these poor beasts!” He gestured at Buttercup and Red Spade, both dark with sweat and sides heaving.

Damian turned back “We’re just keepin ‘em sharp, sir”

The stablemaster’s expression showing he did not agree with the younger Porter’s assessment, Felix interjected “We’ve gotta get these to storage right away, we’ll make it up to the horses later!” Shooting Damian a glance, he tapped the reins to get a trot going to their destination, and the two wagons with Mitch on foot made their way to the stone warehouse up against the wall.

—-

Gilbert was putting back some extra beams from the project in the yard when he heard the wagons approaching the warehouse. Brushing the sawdust off his doublet, he made his way out the door and broke into a wide smile.

“Well, well,” he said. “looking like you’ve run from the Rimelanders themselves.”

“Worse,” Damian said solemnly “It was Felix and Mitch.”

Gilbert nodded in mock understanding. “Sounds like the wagons made the whole trip despite that excitement though. Why’s Mitch covered in dirt?”

“Because we won.” Felix said smugly, without further explanation.

Gilbert continued to nod in understanding. “Naturally, what other reason could it be. How’s summer treating you lads?”

As they unloaded the carts, they traded their stories of the summer so far. Mitch’s path to his path, the sights and sounds of the southern reich. Silvester’s hunting stories and tales of the other hunters in Mecorton. Felix and Damian argued about who had a harder time delivering their cargo, with Felix suggesting that it was Silvester who had it worse. Felix also shared how Woodsman was getting on showing his son the ropes in Survold. Gilbert had been in the fort the whole time, and shared stories of the continued improvements and the various visitors who came through.

They laughed loud, easy laughter that filled the warehouse and echoed off the stone. During Damian’s recounting of surprising Silvester in Mecorton, Gilbert was quiet, before interjecting.

“Each tale they bear doth gild their weary face,
And bids our hearts to join their glad expanse.”

The mood changed immediately, but Damian’s excitement was the most palpable.

“Is this what I think it is?” He asked, looking to Felix for confirmation

Felix gave a weary sigh. “Making himself useful. That’s how things get done.”