The train of Donkeys braid and protested as the leader of the caravan pulled them down

toward the river.

Their steps were sure on the winding path, hooves deftly placed to avoid the loose rocks

that plagued the narrow trail, but they weren't happy about it.

That was the way of things thought the man leading the train.

The river was a bit more open to the urban creatures, but essential.

He couldn't imagine hauling the enormous collection of tin ingots loaded onto their

backs without them.

The river was moving fast, dangerously fast, the man thought.

It was spring and melt waters running down out of the towering mountain peaks just

poking through the clouds to the east, swelled, and quickened the flow.

Were the fords still be passable?

He hoped so.

Losing even a single donkey with its load of tin would be a serious blow.

What does Father-in-law think?

Would he ever be entrusted with another trading journey to the great cities and the river

valley to the south?

Not if he lost his trade goods and so close to home.

His Father-in-law was a demanding and unpleasant man, but it had to be done.

The man skittered down the slope.

He took his long wooden staff and probed the fast flowing waters.

Not too deep he yelled, looking for science of acknowledgement from the other men escorting

...