Wordcount: 424 words
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary:

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The Slow Path

Much to Moonstar’s annoyance Wendy insisted in actually walking over to the caravan, introducing herself and bartering for a place in realtime, instead of simply skipping ahead. It was slightly harder to concentrate with a frustrated white horse dancing impatiently behind her, but the presence of the two rather obviously unnatural equines seemed to seal the deal as far as the caravan supervisor was concerned. She had to stifle a laugh when he asked her if she had any fighting experience, but her more mundane skills as well as her willingness to spend several months on the road seemed to be enough.

“This’ll be yer wagon,” the woman patted the side of one of the seventeen massive wooden behemoths. “It’s marked, blue and blue see?” She pointed to the two strips of blue fabric that had been tied to the outspurs on each end of the wagon. “Mind you, keep to your colors night, day, calm or chaos. We don’t have time ta count heads, just wagons, ken?”

Wendy nodded politely as the lecture continued, trying to remember the woman’s name.

“It’s Ti,” Moonstar ambled over from where he’d been grazing and nuzzled her shoulder, leaving a trail of green slobber in his wake. “And this is going to take forever. Can’t we just steal the map when she’s sleeping?”

She ignored him, having finally figured out that the unicorn’s rather uncouth ramblings were inaudible to the rest of the world.

“Seriously, thievery in the name of Good is still Good. Sparrow wasn’t above a bit of secondstory work if needed.” He lipped her hair and she batted at his nose. “Even if you skip forward, we’ll still have wasted three months covering ground we could have done in one.”

Thankfully they’d reached the end of the lecture and she took the opportunity to drag the unicorn off to the side and out of hearing range. “Look, as you’ve been so diligent in pointing out I’m not Sparrow.” She poked his nose with a finger. “I have no magical powers, no singing swords or healing amulets or whatever else she’s come up with. If you want me to finish out this story I need this. I’m not twelve–”

“Sixteen.”

“Twelve. And not everything important is going to be as obvious as horses with odd-colored eyes or cats that walk between worlds without twitching a whisker.” She poked his nose again. “Is it.”

Moonstar flicked his ears about a bit before finally dropping his head and nibbling on the grass. “No.”

“I thought not.”

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