Intent as ever, Ehomba was watching the forest slide past on either side of the track. Tugging on a line, he trimmed the wagon’s single sail slightly. “It may be that this Brotherhood would object. Certainly if they harry individual travelers they would rise up against any organized settlement. Perhaps that is why none exists.”
Simna waved diffidently. “Gwouroud knows that’s not it, bruther. They’re just fearful folk hereabouts. They feed off the tall tales and spook stories of their neighbors. I’ve been through provinces like that, where everyone is so credulous they’re scared to set foot beyond their own village.” Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply of the brisk, unpolluted air, its innate refreshingness enhanced by the extra oxygen being pumped out by the forest.
The wagon hit a rut and bounced, jarring Ahlitah momentarily awake. “Pick your trail with care, man,” he rumbled.
“There is only one.” Ehomba’s response was curt. “And while we have the wind with us, this is no flying machine to soar smoothly over what water has cut.” Moments after Ehomba composed his terse rejoinder, the wagon began to slow.
Opening his eyes again, Simna ibn Sind saw that the wind still blew in gusts sufficient to drive the vehicle. It was Ehomba who was bringing them to a gradual halt as he turned the sail sideways to the breeze. Frowning, the swordsman sat up.
“Hoy, bruther, why are we stopping?” A glance at the sky showed that it was too early for the midday meal. It was time for them to be covering as much ground as possible, not pausing to rest or engage in casual contemplation of their surroundings. “This wind is meant to be used.”