"Honor Bound" (A Story from "The Postman")

Carl Peters
Image on horse, image without shirt
24 years old
5'11", 188 pounds; fit, well sculpted.
Brunette hair, pale blue eyes.



East Sort City, Oregon
Near the meeting of the
Idaho, Oregon, and Washington Borders:

28 November 2043:

Carl was saddling his horse for his week long trek on Route 14 when the Express Rider bell began ringing at the far end of what most simply called East Sort. Excitement exploded all about the town, with many of Carl's fellow Postal Carriers and even some of the town's non-Postal Service residents hurrying off toward the First Class Mail building. Many wanted to know what kind of important news the Express Rider was bringing them. Others, however -- particularly the mail bunnies -- just wanted to see who this particular Express Rider was.

Carl, for his part, just lowered his head, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly in despair as he returned to preparing his horse. He reminded himself that it wasn't his fault he was just an ordinary Rural Rider. He hadn't grown up in the saddle like most of the Express Riders had, as had his best friend, Zachary. Playing any part in the Postal Service of the Restored United States of America was something of which to be proud; and being a Rural Carrier, as was Carl, was a great honor. But to be an Express Rider...? Well, that was the closest thing to being a hero as Carl could imagine.

The Express Riders -- they were officially called FCCs, or First Class Carriers -- were the superstars of the still expanding Postal Service. They carried the most important of mail items, mostly government mail but also news about regional conflicts, reconstruction, new discoveries, and more. Everything they delivered was considered to be of the utmost importance.

But it wasn't just that importance that had enticed Carl to apply for a position with the FCC. It was also the fringe benefits that came with the job, one of which was, of course, the mail bunnies. Zach had a girlfriend in every town that hosted Express Riders, and when he returned from a run to East Sort, he was never shy about telling Carl all about this girl or that woman and all the things they'd done for, with, or to one another while in a state of partial or full undress.

Of course, Carl's lack of time on a horse had prevented him from joining the Express Riders. He'd only learned to ride a horse two years ago when he joined the Route Carriers. Before that, the closest he'd ever been to a fast moving horse was when he'd nearly been run over by none other than Zach, who had been with the Postal Service for half a decade by that point. Zach had seen parts of the world Carl never would, riding portions of the Express Routes between Portland and Missoula and later Seattle to Idaho Falls. To date, the farthest Carl had been from East Sort was Cloverdale, 112 miles to the northeast near where the borders of Oregon, Idaho, and Washington met.

Carl finished saddling his horse and began to make his way toward the Express Office. But before he'd even turned the corner, there was a cheer from dozens of Carriers, and a moment later a fast moving horse and rider shot out of the parting crowd down the dirt road. Carl recognized the Rider's outfit and lifted a hand to wave just as Zach shot past him.

"Ride...!" Zach called over his shoulder to his friend, a wide smile filling his face. "Ride hard! Ride fast!"

Carl watched his friend disappear to the east, knowing he wouldn't see him again for a handful of days. Well, knowing was the wrong word: believing would have been more appropriate, for it was always possible that you might not see an Express Rider ever again. The world was still a dangerous place, even after the defeat of General Bethlehem and the Holnist Army.

"Carl!"

The Route Carrier turned to find Clint Clifford gesturing him closer with a curling finger. Carl hesitated, unsure of why the Express Riders Supervisor would be wanting to talk to him. He headed for the man, finding himself being led across and down the ancient dirt road to the First Class Mail building. With every step, Carl found himself becoming more and more excited ... and a bit concerned, because not only was Clifford tasked with supervising the Express Riders, he was also tasked with providing discipline to the entirety of East Sort's work force. So ... Carl was either going to be elevated to Express Rider, which he somehow doubted; or he was going to get ejected from his current position as Rural Carrier for ... for what he couldn't even imagine.

They entered the FCM building, zigzagged through the sorting area and halls and right past Clifford's office, and emerged right out the back of the building without slowing. It was only when they reached an arrangement of hay bails that Clifford stopped the very confused Carl, glanced to the revolver on the Rural Carrier's hip, and gestured off toward some targets set up in a dirt bank.

"They tell me you know how to use that thing," he said, referring to the pistol. "Show me."

Carl was confused, asked for clarification, was met with Clifford's hand waggling at the distant targets, and told to try to hit them. Again, Carl hesitated. Ammunition was expensive, and the idea of wasting them on impromptu target practice seemed unwise. But after again being directed, he pulled the revolver, leveled it at a target some 50 feet away, and fired. A tiny hole appeared dead center in the middle of the piece of wood.

"Again," Clifford demanded. Carl repeated the feat, then again, then again. After six shots, the center of the piece of wood was pretty well mangled. Clifford then lifted a .30-30 from the hale bales and handed it to Carl. Pointing to a target on a stake in the ground 70 yards or more away, he said simply, "Again."

"Do you mind if I ask--" Carl began, only to be cut off with a glare and a waggling hand. He lifted the rifle, peered down its open sights, squeezed the trigger, and felt the rifle leap in his hands. He lowered it and looked to Clifford, finding him holding a pair of field glasses to his face. "Where'd I hit?"

"Dead center," Clifford said, lowering the glasses. He looked to the Rural Carrier, studied him for a moment, then said knowingly, "I hear you killed a man once."

Carl looked down quickly. He didn't know that his killing of a bandit was general knowledge, and as his heart began to race with anger, he told himself to remember to speak to Zach about this later, as he was the only person in East Sort who knew about it. Carl murmured softly, "I was defending my--"

"Could you do it again?" Clifford asked. Carl looked up suddenly with a surprised look in his eyes. The Supervisor asked, "If you had to protect someone ... someone important ... could you take a life? Could you shoot him? Kill him?"

Carl hesitated for a long moment, unsure of how to answer the question. It wasn't one he'd ever considered, and it certainly wasn't one he thought anyone would ever ask of him. But finally he said with confidence, "If I had to ... yes, sir. I could shoot someone."



An hour later, Carl found himself mounted on his horse and heading out, but not with a bag of mail sorted for Rural Route 14. Instead, he had one single package, addressed to a Mister Hunt of Mossbank. He also had instructions: after delivering the package, deliver a second package as directed by Mister Hunt ... using any and all means necessary to ensure delivery. Any and all means ... including, apparently, lethal force.

Odilia "Odi" Hunt
22 years old
5'7", body toned by the wilds, long wavy espresso brown hair, dark hazel eyes, lightly tanned olive skin
Father: Wyatt Hunt, mayor of Mossbank; ex-professor of anatomy
Mother: Melody Hunt, deceased; midwife and medicine woman. Passed away three winters ago when the Fever swept through the village.
Siblings: Kent (21), Ivy (20), Remington (16), Bishop (14), Heather and Hawthorne (11), Amos (9), Dove (7)
Birthplace: Poseidon's Bay, moved to Mossbank when she was six and has been a citizen ever since.

The roar of the waterfall was deafening, it overpowered thought and one couldn’t help but lose themselves to the mighty current.

This was her spot to be; be alone, be herself, to just be. It was the one thing that she was selfish about, the one thing she keep for her own and it moments like this, it was her the one things that centered her and kept her together.

’He was a fine man. Honest, dutiful, fair and just.’

Her father’s voice haunted her., sounding within her head as if he were besides her. She knew deep down this would be the best for everyone. The Fever that had taken her mother three years past had drained the village of their supplies and many of the young men and women and after the lean summer following, raiders had taken most of what remained. It left the village lacking and any time they got a foot up, the raider returned targeting them in their weakened state.

’They have supplies, and men willing to work and settle here. Men that can help rebuild and protect our village.’

Tucking her legs under her, Odilia stood and jumped from the edge of the waterfall into the deep pool below. The water welcomed her, caressed her naked form as she cut thought the crystal clear water. It was late in the year, her breath broke the surface with a puff of chilled air and she shivered. There were a million reasons why she shouldn't be out here swimming naked but the heartbreaking thought that this would be her last chance to do it pushed her to bold and risky decisions.

A bonfire she had made almost and hour ago awaited her on the sandy bank and Odi headed for the warmth of the flames. The blanket she had laid out was warm against her skin, sitting turned towards the fire. Her teeth chattered and she brought her legs up to her chest and leaned into the offered warmth.

She didn't know how long she just sat there staring, when a snapping stick alerted her to another's presence.

"You'll catch a cold." A deep gravely voice grunted throwing a buffalo skin blanket over her shoulders.

Odilia was dry, had been for a while and she had warmed quite a bit but found herself snuggling into the blanket, breathing deep the scent of campfires and pine trees. "I'll be fine." it wasn't a lie, she had never been sick a day in her life. Still being cocky about it was silly and she silently listed plans and herbs that she could gather in the winter season that would help keep a cold at bay.

Red Bears sat down with a heavy huff, at 73 the journey up here was becoming too much for his old body. "When will he come for you?"

Her mother had been born on the reservation not far from Mossbank, a sickly child fated for death. Red Bears' wife had been the tribe's healer and took the child as her own to raise when the mother passed in the night and the father cursed the child that was not his to begin with. It made Red Bear Odilia's grandfather in everything but blood. "Days." She croaked her throat tight against the coming tears.

It was silent between the two, both lost to the change before them. "You will be back." Red Bears predicted.

She didn't think that she ever would but she nodded brushing away the tears that ran down her face. A nicker drew her attention away from her Grandfather. At the tree line stood Red Bears' strawberry roan mare, she picked at the last of the blades of grass clustered around the tree trunks.

"Grandfather?" The question was directed at him because besides his horse was the stallion Winter, saddled which stunned Odilia. She had seen him saddle twice before in her life and knew him to be a handful when it came to the cinch.

Red Bear shrugged and slowly got to his feet, waving the horse over. "He came to me this morning from the mountains." The horse picked his head up and strolled towards them. "Winter knows the change of the seasons, he put himself in a stall and stood to be saddled."

It was unheard of for the stallion to even enter the barn, let alone a stall. He was wild and free, few have ever rode him and not one could claim a second ride. "Why?' She asked knowing the reason as the horse stopped before her and ruffled her hair with his heavy groan.

"Does one ever know the will of Winter? For now it seems he will go with you." As he spoke he rounded the horse and unbuckled the saddle bags and untied the roll. "These were made for you." Red Bear laid two large sacks before her and the tightly rolled bundle.

With a question in her eyes Odilia opened the first sack pulling out a new set of thick yet softened pants in a buttery brown color. Folding them up she placed them off to the side and reached inside again this time pulling out leather chaps in a brown just slightly darker then the pants. The leather had been worked so it was supple and bent and twisted smoothly. Lastly there was an off white long sleeve shirt and fitted tank top. The second sack held a new buckskin leather jacket lined with soft fur, new creamy fur lined gloves, long johns that was the same off white color and a belt. The rolled bundle was layered with the outer thick oiled canvas, perfect for using as a canopy in rainy weather, a thickly woven bedroll and inside was a machete knife with a finely tooled leather sheath.

Red Bear stopped her as she began to roll up the bundle. "Don't forget to pack the buffalo."

Odilia's eyes widened unsure if she had heard him correctly. The buffalo blanket was a treasured possession of her Grandfather's and her was rarely seen without in the colder seasons. "Truly?" She asked in awe.

He laughed and patted her shoulders. "Winter has been late to start but she will makeup for her absence."

It was true, while it was colder each night the snow was just a dusting and the ice had yet to freeze over the smaller rivers and ponds. Dried and stubborn bits of green still speckled the land as if their resistance would keep the coming season at bay.

"Thank you."

Red Bear nodded and turned towards his horse as his granddaughter stood up and dressed.

Clearing her throat Odilia held out her arms for Red Bears to inspect her. Everything was snug where it needed to be and cut looser for the perfect range of movement without it looking baggy.

"You look just like your mother." He teared gathering her in a fierce hug.

- - - - - - - -

That night hadn't been any easier. Her siblings knew something was going on and seeing her on Winter confirmed their suspicions. A family dinner had been called and Odilia and her father explained and answered all the questions that their tightly knit family had for them.

Afterwards there had been crying, Odilia gifted what little she had to her siblings and had them promise to stay safe and to write her. It had been an exhausting night and as they had when they were children the nine Hunt children fell asleep huddled together on the floor of the living room.

- - - - - - - - -

There was no word as to when Odilia would be collected so she used the time to gather medicinal plants and herbs. Unsure of what plants would be closer to her coast, she make a list of seeds and roots she wanted her family to send to her when the ground thawed.

When all that was done with all she could do was wait.

Fiddle with this and that, and wait.

Wake, eat, sleep and wait.

Carl and Widow Maker weaved their way carefully through the snow blanketed forest. Every so often Widow would hesitate or readjust her step when she came upon a log or rock hidden below the deep powder, and Carl would slow her down with soft words and a pat on the neck.

Should have been patient, he thought again. Should have just waited for them to clear.

But no sooner would Carl chastise himself for having changed his route, he would forgive himself as well. Clint Clifford, the Express Riders Supervisor who'd sent him on this mission, had told him that the safe delivery of his current package and the one that followed were of far more importance than the timeline in which they were delivered.

"Of course, winter's coming," Clifford reminded him unnecessarily. "So ... don't dawdle."

Carl had been ahead of schedule for the first nine days of his zigzagging, northeasterly trek from East Sort City in Oregon's northeast corner toward what had before the war once been Missoula, Montana. He'd followed the long established Route 23 for the first week, then headed north-by-northwest on Route 230, which would eventually lead near to his destination, the town of Mossbank, on the edge of what had once been the Flathead Indian Reservation.

And that was when he's come upon a burning town. Carl had watched from the woods as a raiding party of a dozen or so men -- directed ironically by a woman -- rampaged through the town, setting fires, collecting loot (including women and children), and killing anyone who put up a fight. Carl had wanted so badly to interdict. He had a rifle and cover, and he could have picked off three or four of the men before they figured out roughly where he was. But then he heard Clifford's warnings in his ear, strict directions to stay on task no matter what and get the job done. And if that hadn't been enough, Carl had then caught sight of a pair of raiders riding along the edge of the woods, probably looking out for people who might contemplate doing exactly what Carl had been considering.

He could have pulled back into the woods, waited for the raid to end, and continued onward following Route 230. But that would have taken time. And, more tragically, would have taken Carl through the devastated town where bodies more than likely would have still been laid out upon its packed dirt streets. Instead, he'd turned Widow back into the woods, checked his map for an alternate path that wasn't an established Route, and headed off.

Now, of course, he found himself navigating a snow covered pass that was surely more than 6,000 in elevation. Carl had never been at this elevation before: East Sort sat at just over 4,400 feet, and the highest pass on his regular Rural Route didn't even reach 5,000. When he occasionally dismounted from Widow to make her own transit easier, Carl found himself almost gasping for oxygen in the thinner air as he fought through the snow.

He'd begun to wish he'd studied the map more or even borne the horror of the destroyed town when suddenly he and Widow broke out of the trees to find an open valley floor below them speckled with only isolated patches of snow. He smiled, took out his map, and studied it and the surrounding terrain.

"Mossbank," he told the horse below him as he looked off toward the far end of the valley where it and the river curled out of sight to the northeast. He patted her on the neck, getting an up and down jerk of the mare's head as he promised her, "We'll be there by dark, girl I promise."



And as vowed, just as the sun was disappearing behind the forested mountains to the west, Carl and Widow found themselves looking at his destination. They approached slowly, with Carl having to hold back the excited Widow who knew that civilization of any sort always meant wholesome grains, crisp vegetables, or sweet fruit for a horse of the Postal Service. They were greeted by a perimeter watch who called for their identification.

"Postal Service!" Carl called loudly, lifting the leather pouch with his credentials over his head and waving them about as his ID. Then, remembering the promotion Clifford had given him just before he left East Sort, Carl added proudly, "Express Rider!"

He felt goose bumps flush over his arms and even up to his neck at speaking those two last words. Express Rider. Oh sure, he wasn't actually operating like one at the moment. The Express Riders rode hard, pushing their horses to the limit from Point A to Point B, only to dismount quickly, mount a second -- or third, fourth, or fifth -- horse, and continue onward until reaching the point at which their mail pouch was passed to a new rider, who would then continue the trek and get the mail delivered.

Clifford had told Carl that this mission might be more important than what any one Express Rider did on an average day. Carl hadn't believed that, of course, until Clifford explained that Carl would be carrying a package that could decide the fate of what had once been the State of Washington.

"How can one package be so important?" the Rural Route Rider had asked, looking at the wrapped item that looked to be now bigger than an old pre-war hardback book. Clifford hadn't explained that this package wasn't the one that could change the future of the healing Pacific North West, that it was Carl's second package that could change the future for thousands or tens of thousands of men, women, and children who'd survived the apocalypse and wanted to see a better world come from it. When Clifford stressed the importance of the mission, Carl had dutifully told him, "I won't fail you, sir. The mail will get through."

And now, here Carl was, pulling the package from his saddle bag and holding it aloft as he announced, "I have a package for Major Hunt. First Class Delivery."

Mossbank wasn't much to behold. The village was on the high ground nestled in the curve of the river, a bridge spanned over the water to the other side of the river. A fenced in paddock kept the livestock contained and close enough to be safe but far enough away to keep the smell from wrinkling the villagers' nose. On the opposite side of the village was farmland and an orchard with fruit trees that they picked and fermented into wine. It was something that the village had been known for, their fruit wines before they had been crippled the Fever and then raiders.

Houses dotted the center between the river and plots, hard packed dirt served as roads and a stone build smack dab in the middle served at the town center. The second house was built from red brick and worn wood, it was the Hunt residence and also doubled as the town's medical center.

Odilia had just finished wrapped Jimmy's arm when Luke signaled her from the door.

As one of the few remaining men in town he had been elevated from rancher to Sheriff. It was a job that he hadn't been fond of to begin with but he was doing well in his new position.

"Alright Jimmy, no more ax stunts to charm Clara."

The teenager blushed but nodded his head. "Yes Miss Odilia." He promised standing. "I think I got her attention anyways." He turned a scarlet even deeper then before and she followed his gaze to the young woman hovering besides Luke, a thermos of something steaming in her hands.

"Mama said some warm soup would help your healing." Clara smile. "I doubt it'll do anything for your wits but that's what you got me for." She crossed the threshold and helped Jimmy out the door.

"Everything alright Luke? You hurt?'

He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled under her gaze. "Got a Postal Rider lookin' for ya da." The older man mumbled.

"He's out checking the fence line. Homer said he saw a bear in the pastures." She cleaned up the bloodied bandages and washed her hands, building a thick lather with the soap before rinsing. "Have you shown the rider into town?"

"Ah, well, no."

"No?"

"We weren't sure if he was the real thing or not and he's different from the last one."

Henry was their route rider and they saw him 3 maybe 4 times a year. "Well lets go say hello, feed him at the very least and see to his horse." Odi instructed drying her hands. She wore a loose billowy colorful patchwork skirt and a oversize worn light gray long sleeve. "Come along Luke you slowpoke!" She teased skipping her way through town. It was the wrong time of year for there to be a rider at their town but like any time she was brimming with excitement. Henry was in his late fifties and always had to best stories and gossip. He also had made a habit of collecting seeds for her, making it a surprise as to the plant or flower it would grow. She assumed arriving at the village that this other rider would be the same age, she didn't expect to see a young man upon the horse.

"Welcome to Mossbank, I'm Odilia Hunt, Mayor Hunt is my father. He's out for the moment." Light flickered on and torches were being lite. "I have a stew simmering and some freshly made bread. The ale is a bit tart but if you'd prefer I have a bottle or two left from last season's mead." She invited sweeping her hand out in a welcoming gesture. "There is the town stable on the way, my own is cold and musty but is within a stone's throw to the house." Without waiting for an answer Odilia nodded, turned and started back towards her house. "Luke, if he lingers or needs the town stables will you show him to the house?'

Luke nodded and crossed his arms over his chest waiting and watching.

Carl wasn't surprised when the sentries escorted him as far as the other side of the bridge but then held him short of the gate entering the town. This world in which he'd grown up -- the only world he'd ever known, unlike some of the pre-war Old Timers -- was a harsh and cruel one, as he'd seen a few days earlier on the other side of the snowy range. The guards or sentries or militia or whatever any one town had available could never be too cautious with a stranger, even if he was carrying Postal Service creds.

What did surprise Carl, though, was the lack of people he saw emerging to gawk at him as word of a Postal Carrier -- an Express Rider, no less- spread through the town. It was a small town to begin with, barely larger than East Sort which was more postal separation facility than actual town. And yet the larger number of homes produced a significantly smaller number of curious, and particularly a smaller proportion of males as would have been expected.

What happened here? Carl thought as he scanned the residents. He thought back to the carnage of days earlier and wondered whether or not this town, too, had suffered such a fate. Or maybe it had been fever. Without the advanced medical protection of the era prior to the War, entire towns were sometimes wiped out by disease.

Carl's attention shifted to a young woman who was approaching him, accompanied by an armed man that Carl was sure had some official supervisory capacity in the town. Or, maybe he was just her protective husband, who knew? As she neared and the moon light above and to his right casted down upon her, Carl came to realize that she was quite the stunner, the type of woman he hoped was one of Zach's mail bunnies.

"Welcome to Mossbank," the beauty told him, continuing, "I'm Odilia Hunt, Mayor Hunt is my father. He's out for the moment."

Carl blushed in the darkness, thinking quickly So, probably NOT a mail bunny. He pulled his hat from his head quickly, holding it to his chest as he said with a nervous voice, "Carl Peters, ma'am, Restored United States of America Postal Carrier out of East Sort City, Oregon ... ma'am."

His nervousness caused him to use ma'am twice, as well as causing him to leave out that he was now an Express Rider, not just a Postal Carrier. Carl opened his mouth to fix the error, but feared that doing so now would make the beauty think he was trying to ensure those special privileges of which Express Riders often partook.

Beyond her, the town was visibly coming to life more than it already had. Carl glanced beyond her to see a few more people emerge from homes and step out into the dirt streets. And yet, the greeting still seemed ... insufficient, to choose a word.

"I have a stew simmering and some freshly made bread," she told him. "The ale is a bit tart but if you'd prefer I have a bottle or two left from last season's mead."

"Very kind, ma'am," Carl said quickly, too hungry and thirsty to even begin thinking about making choices between this or that. The food he'd packed back at East Sort had run out three days ago, and the only thing he'd eaten since then was a raw portion of a salmon whose head he'd blown off with his .45 yesterday. He'd probably wasted more energy in trying to catch the fish as it floated down the creek and in trying to warm up later after having fallen in said creek than he'd gotten by eating the raw fish.

The woman welcomed him to put up his horse and turned back toward the town. The man with her, Luke, escorted Carl to the stables. As the Route Carrier stripped Widow of her saddle, bags, and bridle, they chatted. Luke was eager to hear about what was happening out there in the world. Carl was typically quiet and reserved, but the opportunity to tell Luke things about which he couldn't otherwise be informed felt good.

Once Widow Maker was settled in a stall with hay and grain, Luke took Carl up to a brick and wood building, explaining that it was both the medical center and the Hunt residence. Luke knocked, told Carl to wait a moment, and entered the house. A moment later, Luke returned and gestured Carl inside. Carl thanked the man and stepped inside. He looked around a bit, taking note of the interior and smiling. For reasons he couldn't explain, being here reminded him of his own long lost family.

Movement caught his attention, and he turned to find Odilia approaching him. He stripped his hat off again and smiled. He suddenly realized that he was trembling a bit with nervousness. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to hide the gentle shaking. What the fuck's wrong with you? he asked himself as she neared.

Carl knew what the problem was, of course: Odilia Hunt. She was beautiful and confident ... and beautiful. It wasn't like Carl was a virgin or anything. He'd had girlfriends. He'd had lovers. Okay, lover, singular. But, the last few years had been cold, lonely ones. To have the attention of any woman would have been enough to stiffen Carl down yonder, but to be in a house alone with such a goddess as Odilia Hunt...?

Carl glanced about the house suddenly, wondering Are we still alone? He looked back to his hostess and asked, "Is your father here?"

He wanted to know for two reasons: to know whether he was alone with Odilia, and to know where it was time to complete Phase One of his mission. He reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and pulled out the small package.

"I'm supposed to put this in Mayor Hunt's hands directly," Carl said, displaying the package before him. "I'm supposed to deliver it, then pick up a second package. I don't suppose you know what I'm picking up, do you?"

(OOC: To anyone reading along, if you don't want to see sexually graphic pictures in this or future posts, don't open the links that are described as such.)

Victor Wolfe stood on the balcony of his home looking out over what essentially was his kingdom. He lived in the Pilgrim Heights neighborhood, in the hills north of what had once been downtown Aberdeen but, now under his charge, was becoming known across the Pacific North West as Poseidon's Bay.

From here, Victor could see the functioning lumber yard, functioning grain mill, functioning shipyard, and more. The key to all of them, of course, was the word functioning. Oh sure, there were still problems, from a lack in raw resources to mechanical break downs to untrained personnel and more. But even with the delays and setbacks, the fact remained that Poseidon's Bay was the only town -- city! -- in Western Washington that had an economy even remotely similar to that of the 2020 pre-war Aberdeen.

Victor shifted his attention to the docks a quarter mile to the southwest. A small freighter tied up there now had appeared the day before in the swells of the Pacific, just beyond the mouth of Gray's Harbor. Using the craft's signal light, the captain had announced he had a special cargo for which he was seeking an equally special form of compensation.

A distant knock drew Victor's attention back inside his home. He crossed the balcony and entered the massive bedroom, calling out, "Enter!"

As he moved to a bureau to finish dressing -- which included donning his holster and the 9mm pistol it held -- he looked up to find his last still living brother Kyle enter. Kyle was more than just a brother to Victor. Kyle was the only man on the planet who Victor fully trusted with his life. Kyle held positions of power and responsibility that, without a doubt, made him the heir-apparent to Victor so long as Victor had no children of his own. Kyle commanded the Militia, with the modest rank of Major. He also served as Senior Deputy Sheriff, making him the true acting head of the Police Department as Victor's title of Sheriff had become more ceremonial than active these days.

"I've got the captain out in the hall," Kyle began, speaking of the commander of the freighter at the docks. "He wants to talk about--"

"I know what he wants to talk about," Victor cut in politely. As he tightened the holster belt about his waist, he looked to a third person just entering the bedroom from the adjacent bathroom. He smiled, pleased at the sight, then looked to his brother, who was also taking in the view with a happy smirk. "Send him in, Kyle."

Kyle looked a bit surprised. He glanced at the other party in the room, then back. "Do you need a moment to--"

"We're good as we are," Victor said, looking to the third party for a reaction. Getting nothing but an emotionless stare, he repeated, "Send him in, Kyle."

"As you wish," Kyle said, turning to the door. He waved to someone out of Victor's view, then stepped back to let the unfamiliar captain enter. He said toward his brother with an official tone in his voice, "Captain Jose Villanueva of the freighter La Promesa de María."

"Good to meet you, Captain," Victor said as he strode forward toward the man. "I'm Sheriff Victor Wolfe. Welcome to Poseidon's Bay..."

Still two steps short of the captain and not yet having begun to reach his hand out to shake Victor saw the dark skinned captain's attention shift to his left to the young, entirely naked beauty leaning against a tall backed chair. The captain's eyes swelled and his mouth fell open a bit as his gaze took a walk up and down her slim, flawless form.

"Oh, and this is Charlotte," Victor said with a casual tone. The seaman tried to pull his gaze off the woman, looking for an instant at his host before the lust burning him up drew his eyes back to her again. Still speaking with a soft tone, Victor said, "Charlotte dear, why don't you put some clothes on and make a drink for our new friend."

Charlotte hesitated before turning ever so slowly turning to head for the bathroom from which she'd only just come. The captain was given a view of her front side, which featured her smoothly shaved pussy, then her backside as her shapely ass shifted about -- a little more dramatically than was natural -- with each step. She hesitated at the door, looking back at the captain before slowly swinging it toward closing.

"So, Captain Villanueva, you have a cargo you would like to sell," Victor began, finally pulling the Mexican's eyes from the closing door. Victor glanced toward Kyle, then back to the seaman before saying, "My brother tells me that the men of my militia will be very interested in it."

"Sí, señor," the captain said. He looked to Kyle, who passed along a sheet of paper. (He'd originally had it inside his coat pocket, but after having reached for it earlier only to get a half dozen guns pulled on him, Jose had thought it better for Kyle to hold onto it rather than yet again take the chance of getting himself shot. Attempting but failing to keep straight his Spanish and English words, he said, "I think sus hombres ... eh ... be ... muy interesados ... this carga, Señor."

Victor read the list, and as he did his lips slowly spread wide. He looked to the seaman, then to his brother. To Kyle he said, "Yes ... mey interesados, don't you think?"

Kyle smiled wide, too.



A dozen men took their own sweet time unloading several cases of weapons and an equal number of crates of ammunition from the cargo holds of La Promesa de María. They did this within plain view of some of the dock workers and regular ol' folk who were at the port simply to gawk at the strange boat. Victor wanted people -- particularly those who he knew lived here but were loyal to other towns -- to know that Poseidon's Bay had just increased their armory significantly. Deterrent, he called it. If potential enemies knew Victor's Militia was packing heavy, they were less likely to ruffle his feathers.

The men also unloaded cases, bags, tubs, and bottles of food stuffs that were either exotic to Poseidon's Bay or simply in demand. The longshoremen didn't go back onto the freighter empty handed, though. Captain Villanueva's payment came in the form of goods grown or manufactured in or near Poseidon's Bay, or in goods Victor had accumulated via trade with the communities across Southwestern Washington. Goat meat and venison, cheeses and butters, tools and parts, lumber and stone work, and more.

But unloading the more sensitive cargo -- a dozen young, dark skinned women all chained together at their hands and ankles -- was timed to happen well after dark. Victor knew that the purchase of more sex slaves for the brothels would eventually get out. But, to be honest, he didn't much care. The men of Poseidon's Bay worked hard, and -- regardless of whether they had a woman waiting at home for them or not -- they often deserved more than what Victor could provide them in the way of appropriate compensation. Thus, the Police, Militia, and General Laborer brothels, with their inexpensive entertainment.

"Buenas tardes, Sheriff," a male voice called out.

Victor looked upward from the dock, where he'd been conversing with the Foreman of the longshoremen to find the happily smiling ship's commander walking slowly down the portside of his vessel. He was followed closely by a scantily clad Charlotte, whose expression was anything but happy. Victor ignored the discontent obvious on the face of one of his mistresses. If she hadn't wanted to earn her living with the holes in her body -- whether with a John or a husband -- she should have learned to sew or grow potatoes.

"Good evening to you, Captain," Victor called up, presuming he'd understood the other man's greeting. He glanced to Charlotte again, tried to contain his smirk, and asked Villanueva, "Can I assume that I have made payment in full?"

The Mexican stopped near the brow, and as Charlotte passed by him to disembark the captain reached out to cup half of the buttock in which he'd just found some badly needed pleasure. Villanueva had had access to the women in his hold for weeks, yet hadn't partaken. He was a man with strange principals: making use of a whore provided to him by a business partner was acceptable to him, but forcing himself on a future sex slave was out of bounds.

"Yes, Sheriff, payment in full," he confirmed as he watched the pale woman's ass swing and bob as she carefully ascended the brow. The captain looked to Victor, telling him, "The tide calls us."

Victor waved politely, ignoring Charlotte's softly growled profanity as she passed close to him on the dock. He called up, "Poseidon's Bay waits for your next visit, Captain."

"Adios mi buen amigo," Villanueva called before turning to begin barking orders at his crew.

Victor headed up the dock to the pavement where he slipped into a reproduction surrey that served as Victor's official transportation, that is when he wasn't on horse back. The driver sitting before them made a click click sound in one side of him mouth, and the two heavy horses before him shot the carriage away. Victor's horse followed behind, tied to the back of the surrey, and a pair of riders -- Victor's bodyguard -- rode out before the carriage as yet a second pair followed in behind.

Victor reached for Charlotte's hand, but she resisted, growling again under her breath. But Victor snatched her hand forcefully and pulled it closer to him. He rolled it over forcibly, then pressed something into it. Charlotte looked down to see a hundred dollar casino chip pressed into open palm.

"Payment in full," Victor said. He curled her fingers around the chip, then gripped his hand around hers so tightly that she grimaced and squeaked in pain. He growled at her, "Remember who ... and what ... the fuck you are."

Charlotte tried to give Victor an apologetic smile, but her emotions were running the gambit as her eyes glazed over with threatening tears. When Victor released his pain-inducing hold on her hand, Charlotte looked to the front and tried to find calm as they headed through the darkness of his city.

She gripped the chip in her hand, thinking about the fact that Victor hadn't had to pay her. Charlotte's body was Victors to do with as he pleased. Unfortunately, that meant that he could loan it to another man for a night of rough sex if he wanted. She half glanced his way, then looked down at her hand, opening it to reveal the payment. One hundred dollars. She hadn't had that much money at one time in quite a while. Even before Victor had made the poker chips the official currency of Poseidon's Bay, Charlotte doubted that all her valuables would have added up to that sum.

The Spirit Eagle Casino had been scheduled to open New Years Eve Day 2020. The staff had been hired over the preceding summer and was being trained when the War began just 4 weeks before opening day. In the mayhem that followed, just about anything and everything of value inside the casino was pillaged. Except the chips. Expecting its opening night to be one of the greatest Indian Casino openings in the industries history, the casino had ordered $50 million dollars in chips. They'd been stored in the casino's basement vault, and -- because the dealers and other staff were being trained with worthless practice chips -- the chips had still been locked up, still in their wrapping, still stacked on pallets when the end of the world arrived.

The stash of chips wasn't entirely unknown after the apocalypse, but as no one had any use for now worthless rounds of clay, the chips had simply remained where they were for over two decades.

Until Victor.

He knew that to rebuild a successful economy, he was going to need an easy to use, easy to transport currency. He couldn't use the Dollar. Without knowing how many Dollars might be available at any one particular time, it was impossible to know what the value of the dollar was. A guy using a bulldozer to break open an abandoned bank's vault to appropriate a couple of million dollars in greenbacks could mean that the value of the Dollars being passed around Poseidon's Bay would suddenly dropped by 30, 40, 80%.

But the chips in the Spirit Eagle Casino were of a finite number, and more of them would never be produced again. So, just like that fictitious guy with the bulldozer robbing the bank, Victor and some of his men used some homemade plastic explosive to blow the doors of the casino vault off their hinges enough to be able to get themselves inside and the chips out. They were loaded onto a horse draw wagon and, under the cover of darkness, delivered to a secret location in Poseidon's Bay. Then, after the guards had been dismissed and only Victor and Kyle remained, they were moved once again. Since then, their location has only been known to the two brothers.

Victor set the value of the chips to the approximate value of the US Dollar of 2020, and little by little the chips entered the marketplace. There were some hiccups, with some wondering whether the value of the chips would remain stable or whether they were even worth the clay from which they were stamped. But within a couple of months, most economic transactions were employing the chips. Within two years, the stability of the Spirit Eagle Casino chips and the faith put in Victor by the public -- within and without Poseidon's Bay -- had led to almost half of economic transactions in Southwest Washington involving the chips.

Charlotte squeezed the chip in her hand. It was a significant sum of money, particularly since Victor already provided her with shelter, food, and most of her other necessities. There were a great many things the whore could spend the money on if she'd simply wanted to enjoy herself or have something new to call her own. But she already knew what she would be spending it on: her ailing mother and always hungry siblings. Charlotte may have been living the highlife since agreeing to open her thighs and mouth to Victor, but that didn't always translate into benefits for her family.

"Pull up here," Victor told the surrey's driver when he recognized an approaching rider as Kyle. He didn't recognize the rider with his brother immediately but, as they got closer, realized from the gear he wore and carried that it was a Postal Express Rider. Victor leapt out, knowing this was important, and as he loosed his horse's reins from the surrey, told the driver, "Take her wherever she wants to go. Good night, Charlotte."

His mistress forced a smile, gripping the chip to remind her why she did what she did for him. As the carriage headed away, Victor watched it go, wondering which fork Charlotte would signal the rider to take once they reached 6th Street: west would take her to her mother's house; east would take her to his. When he realized that he didn't really care, he turned back to the mounted men.

"Zachary Connor, sir, Restored United States of America Express Rider, out of East Sort City, Oregon," the Rider began without waiting for introduction from the man who'd led him here. Even though Zach knew the man before him was his intended recipient, he still said with an official tone, "I have a First Class Package for Sheriff Victor Wolfe."

"I'm Sheriff Wolfe," Victor said, stepping close enough to the Rider to reach up for the package as Zach handed it forward. In the light of the nearly full moon, Victor could just read the return address information: Mayor Hunt, Mossbank, Montana. He looked up to study the Rider for a moment. "You rode all the way from East Sort yourself to deliver this, young man?"

"Yes, sir," Zach said proudly.

"How far's that, do you think?" Victor asked, curling around to the saddle bag on his horse's left side. "I'd ask by how the crow flies, but I have a feeling your route was a bit less straight than that, wasn't it ... Zachary was it?"

"About 500 miles, I guess, sir," the Rider answered, adding, "And Zach's good enough."

"And, how much does the Postal Service pay you to ride about 500 miles, Zach?"

Zachary hesitated, contemplating his answer. In all the time that he'd been with the Postal Service, no one had every asked him that question. To be honest, he didn't get paid. He got room and board, above average food (in quality and quantity), a horse, gear, medical care (if you could call what Doc Cramer did or knew medical care), and, of course, the appreciation of the public and the adoration of the mail bunnies. Plus, after 10 years of service, if he was still alive, Zach would receive a pension ... which, essentially, was room and board, above average food, a horse, gear, medical care, appreciation of the public, and (unlikely he often told himself) the adoration of mail bunnies ... but now without the need to ride any longer. But ... pay?

"How about two dollars a mile," Victor said as he approached the Rider. He held out his hand, palm down, and after a confused Zach reached his hand out palm up, Victor dropped a stack of hundred dollar chips into the rider's palm. Victor explained briefly what the chips were and what $1000 worth of them could get him in Poseidon's Bay. As the Rider's eyes opened with realization of what he had been given, Victor told him,"I only ask one thing of you, Zach."

Zach looked at the chips in his hand, contemplated the fun they could provide -- in and out of clothing -- and smiled to the man below him. "Anything you ask, Sheriff."

Carl Peters. A handsome man to be sure, in fact. As she walked away she gave him one more look over her shoulder just to confirm her prior suspicion. He was the dashing, adorable kind of knight she had always imagined when she thought of the Postal Riders. Everyone else wanted to gruff bad boy with that half cocked smile but for it she wanted that someone with a gentle soul and kind eyes.

That double use of the word ma'am had been just to kind of adorably nervous tick that would have made her smile if she didn't know the reason for him being here. While she had expected Victor himself to come get her, she figured a man as busy as him probably didn't have to the time. Mossbank wasn't even a third of the size and her father was always busy with this or that.

She steps were heavy and slow as she walked though town. Faces smiled out at her, word had spread and no one was happy to see the young woman leave. Not only that she was their healer and was be near impossible to replace. It was a conflicting whirlwind because as sad as they were to lose her, the arrival of a Postman was the highlight of any day.

Odilia had thought that she had said her goodbye, closed the matter of her sorrow but as she walked there were memories that haunted her. She would miss so many things, Remington finishing school, he had dreams of becoming a lawyer and maybe even writing some laws himself. Bishop wanted to become a sailor and had been saving money for his own boat one day. The twins, so alike and yet so different. Both wanted to travel the world but she knew they were rooted to Mossbank. They were like their father and dreamed of ways Mossbank could grow and played around with their drawing about how they would build this or fix that. Now Amos on the other hand, he was going to be a rider and he spent more time with their Grandparents then at Mossbank coming home smelling like horse sweat and manure. Tears came to her eyes are the thought of her Precious Turtle Dove. She wanted to be a healer like she was, would she be able to return when she got married?

She allowed herself to wallow in self pity on the walk home, no more then that and by the time the house was within sight her tears had dried and she had push all that she would miss in trade of the amazing adventure before her.

"It's stew, we don't need forks."

"Some people might want a fork, what if I want a fork?"

"Only fools and Bishops eat soup with a fork."

"Are you calling me a fool!" The first hint of anger colored Bishop's words.

Odilia shook her head, smiling. "Boys, if I have to come in there and set the table myself..." She warned picking up discarded toys, books and articles of clothing.

Remington stomped to the kitchen opening and stood with his hands on his hips. "Bishop want to place forks on the table. I think it's silly and just gives use more to wash later."

Her father liked to call anything kind of dispute a debate and as long as you could defend your case with logic and not emotions you were allowed to voice it but be prepared because the other side would 'debate' just as hard. "Are you the one setting the table tonight?'

The 16 year old frowned and his arms fell to his side. "No but I'll be the one to wash tonight so it's fair for me to voice a complaint!" He defended.

"Fair enough." Odi nodded. "How about this." Bishop had walked into sight and stood behind his brother to listen to the verdict. "Bishop can set the table as he feels proper and we'll only wash wasn't used. Is that fair?" She asked the two boys with a raise of her brows.

"I still find it excessive." Remington complained returning to the kitchen.

"And I feel it's justified to give people a choice in the matter despite what we might think." The fourteen year old countered following his older bother back the way they came.

Oddly enough it was going to be moments like this that she missed the most.

"Odilia," Wyatt's voice was weary but warm as he greeted his eldest child. "How did The Burton's kid arm look?" Unlacing his work boots he placed them against the wall and out of the way noticing Odi's full hands.

"Good, he needed a few stitches and I sent him home with a salve. Clara gathered him home, those two make a cute couple."

As she spoke Wyatt unloaded her arms. "They do, love even at a young age is something to cherish." He looked at this daughter wishing that her fate was different and that she could find love as he had. "I'll get cleaned up and be down before dinner is set." He promised taking the stairs two at at time with his long stride. "Are the twins coming home tonight?" Wyatt asked at the head of the staircase.

"The twins are at The Grant's." They were the only other set of twins in the village and while the Grant twins were a year older, the four were inseparable.

Wyatt hummed in acknowledgement before disappearing.

"I heard, I heard, I head..." Dove stuttered, her excitement getting the better of her mouth as she bounced down the stairs.

Odilia was interrupted, a firm knock on the door calling her attention. It was Luke announcing the Express Rider's arrival. "Thank you Luke, please see him in."

"So it's TRUE!?" Squealed Dove hopping around after Luke came and left. "An Express Rider..." She 'ohh'ed clapping her hands together. "Old Henry's just a plain old ride, yes he is." Dove shared with everyone as if this were all new to them.'

Odilia ruffled her youngest sister's hair and squatted down in front of her. "As true as the man walking through the door." Pointing with her chin she stopped her sister from rushing to poor man as he stepped through the door. "What's the rule?"

Dove's brows crinkled with disappointment but mumbled the words to appease Odi. "If they come in after dark, we're as quiet as a lark." She grumbled, her shoulders slumping as she dramatically dragged her feet into the dining room.

"That's a good girl." Odi praised swatting the girl on her rump to hurry her along.

"Odi, I'm the best lark there is, just watch!" Amos zipped his lips shut and scampered to the dining room, bragging aloud that he had made it before Dove.

Once the hallway was cleared Odilia turned towards Carl with a warm welcoming smile. "Here let me get that for you." She offered taking his hat and hanging it on the hook to his left along with other hats and coats. "You can hang your coat there as well." Her father had made a point of having a warm house keeping fires crackling in the wood burning stove and insulating around windows and doors. "Father is upstairs getting cleaned up before dinner." She pointed at the first door to the left, a room they used for company or if there was an injured or ill patient that needed overnight care. "If you need to clean up yourself you can use that room there. It'll also be a safe place to store your things."

"Stop it!" Shrilled Dove from the dining room.

Odilia cringed, covering her discomfort with a smile and a firm pat on Carl's arm. "Excuse me, if you don't mind." She let her hand stay on Carl's arm and she gently squeezed it before leaving him in the hallway to clean himself up.

"And what are we shouting about?" Odilia sternly asked crossing her arms.

"Amos keeps unfolding my napkins!" Cried Dove pointing a finger at her brother.

Remington and Bishop crept from the dining room and kept cover in the kitchen, Odilia saw them she shot them a look as they backed out of the room. "You two, Amos the napkins are Dove's job for the night let her do as she pleases. Dove, what are you doing child?" She picked up one of Dove's crumpled napkins. "What is this?'

Dove looked offended as she snatched the napkin out of Odi's hand. "It's a horse for the Postman." She explained as if it were easy to see.

"My Precious Turtle Dove." Odilia sighed as Remington brought in jugs of water and tea, with Bishop following with butter and honey for the bread. "There are six more places that need napkins, why not just give Carl the horse so he feels extra special and give regular folded napkins to the rest of us?"

"Okay but he's sitting next to me!" Sang Dove rushing to the other side of the table.

"No, I'm going to be a rider, he's sitting next to me!" Amos cried running to intersect his younger sister.

Odilia plucked the napkin out of Dove's hand and sat the 'horse' napkin in the middle of the table between the two youngest children. "He can sit by you both." Mentally she apologized to Carl for throwing him to the wolves that were her younger siblings. It also worked to her benefit because that placed Carl across the table from her.

"Dinner smells delicious!" Groaned Wyatt combing his thick slivered hair back. "An extra place setting?' His eyes swept over the filled table and recounted coming up with one extra.

"A Mail Carrier, came today-" "A postman-" "He's an Express Rider for-" "I saw him!"

Remington, Bishop, Amos and Dove all spoke up as one and tried to drown each other out.

Wyatt held up his hand and silenced his children, an amused smile turning his lips.

"Odilia?"

Her face was drawn and grave and she nodded quick to plaster a smile on her face. "He should be here shortly, I believe he's getting cleaned up."

"Right, in the mean time lets pretend we're not the savages that I heard all the way from upstairs." He frowned, hiding a not so secret wink directed at Odilia.

The mayhem two rooms over from the washroom in which Carl cleaned up was ... unexpected. He'd shared a bunk house with a dozen Mail Sorter when he was doing that job; and he'd continued to share a cabin with three others after becoming a Rural Route Carrier. But he'd never known a family to have so many children under its roof; and he'd never imagined that so many children could be so noisy.

Carl stripped off his jacket, over shirt, and tee shirt and watched at the sink with water from a large pitcher. He sat to kick off his boots and strip off his jeans, then rolled all of that outfit into a tight roll. Removing a second roll from his saddle bags, he donned a relatively free set of clothes. Relatively was the right word. They weren't clean, per se. They simply didn't have a fresh layer of dust on them, having been shaken out when he'd changed out of them like he was the other set now.

Once he was fully dressed, Carl headed back into the foyer, stopping to eye the dining room for a long moment. The house was incredible. He'd seen homes like this before, of course. You didn't have to be an Express Rider to be invited to dinner at the home of a happy mail recipient. Carl had been invited to dine and even sleep in a real bed often. But rarely in a home so amazing. Most of the towns on his regular route had either been backwater, low income burgs before the War or had been devastated by the mayhem that followed the conflict. Even after a full generation, many were still rebuilding and didn't have much to offer strangers, even Postal Carriers or Express Riders.

One of the children in the other room caught sight of Carl, leaped from the table, and ran into snatch the Rider's hand and literally drag him into the other room. Carl was nervous and even a bit embarrassed by the show of attention. He glanced about the room, smiling and sometimes nodding to each of those present.

Carl caught sight of the man who had to be Mayor Hunt and began to open his mouth to greet the recipient of his package when his gaze again fell upon the beauty who'd met him at the bridge. And here in the better light of the dining room, Carl instantly thought he'd found an angel down from Heaven. His gaze stuck to her like a bug landing in tree sap, and even after her father had curled around the table to step up close to him, Carl's eyes were glued to her.

"I'm told your name is Carl," the Mayor said, offering out his hand.

The dinner guest forced his ogle to an end, looking to the man with a stunned expression. He popped to attention, arms stiff to his side as he barked out with nervousness, "Carl Peters, sir. Postal Carr--"

He caught himself this time, continuing, "Express Rider for the Postal Service of the Restored United States of America, sir ... out of City Sort-- uh, I mean, East Sort City, Oregon, sir."

After a moment of silence in which Carl just stared at the man before him and Wyatt continued to hold his hand out, a round of soft giggles and sharp laughs circled the table. Carl glanced toward the youngsters, and a moment later his brain registered just exactly what he'd said. And a fierce blush exploded through his face and neck.

"Wyatt Hunt," the man before Carl said softly with a slight smile.

Carl glanced down to the hand being held patiently before him, then grasped it eagerly. "Carl Peters."

"So you said," the family's patriarch said. "Hungry?"

Their hands parted, and as Wyatt stepped back a bit, Carl looked about the table again, then smiled. Napkins, he thought. Cloth napkins. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen cloth napkins on a dinner table.

"Yes, sir, I am," Carl answered, looking at his hands as if now afraid that -- even after washing them -- they probably weren't clean enough for cloth napkins. He took a step forward, then a thought hit him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the hardback book sized package, heading quickly toward the Mayor as he explained, "Excuse me, sir, this is for you. First Class Mail, from Poseidon's Bay, Washington. Sheriff Wolfe."

Carl didn't have to look at the writing on the outside of the package to recall that. He'd looked at the package every day since leaving East Sort, often more than once, just wondering what was inside. He shoved it out before him, noting that Wyatt seemed a bit hesitant about taking it. That was odd, Carl thought. Most people couldn't wait to get their mail, and once it was in their hands the glue, tape, or string holding the envelopes or packages closed were quickly defeated to expose what was inside.

"I certainly don't mean to sound impatient, sir, but..." Carl continued politely, glancing at the table and almost licking his lips at the thought of the imminent meal, "But I was also told that I would be picking up a package to take with me. If you want, I can accept that package now. I mean, if you wish to get it off your hands and into mine."

Strings of lights were strung from back and forth from the ceiling, they were powered by the solar panels that fueled the battery bank in the basement. Every third stand was illuminated and shed a soft warm glow to the mostly squared room. In the middle was a long rectangle table with twelve mixed matched chairs and double benches. It wasn't the prettiest thing, the wood was a dark worn in stain and there were scar marks telling stories of the meals shared over the years. The plates, cups and flatware followed the same random mixture of the chairs and added charm to the clay and wooden bowls that were filled with sliced bread and dried nuts and fruits. Between the two windows was a small wood burning pot-bellied stove that was kept at a low burn to help heat the room, adding a deep amber glow to the space.

The dining room, like the rest of the house, had dark wooden floors, there were oddly fitted and colored planks were pieces of the floor had to be replaced. The walls were also the same though out the house. An ivory cream that had once upon a time been a crisp white. Threadbare rugs littered the floor and a strange collection of pictures, artwork and crafts decorated the walls. All the windows and doors were trimmed with dark wood that matched the floor and crown molding lined the joints between the walls and the ceiling.

What had once been the garage had turned into a horse stall, sheltering chickens, sheep and their milk cow before the raids. That wasn't the only change the house had undergone. Most of the kitchen had been gutted years before the Hunt family had arrived and a large coal and wood burning stove had been moved in. Each room had some kind of stove or fireplace and strands of bulbs trimmed rooms and hallways when candles and firelight weren't bright enough.

In its heyday the manor had been second only to the large stone estate down the road that now served as the town center. It was the crown jewel of Mossbank and the only thing that kept it standing was the Hunt family. Raiders targeted the estate and manor first but when word got around that there was a healing family that would see anyone free of charge as long as that person didn't cause trouble, it became common courtesy to leave the manor alone. A good healer was hard to find, a good healer that didn't charge you an arm and a leg was almost unheard of.

"Dove." Odilia frowned as her youngest sister snatched Carl by the hand and dragged him to the table between herself and Amos. She would have gotten on the the child even more but she beamed up at her with the most pleased of grins splitting her face in two. A good thing she was so adorable, Odi mused just shaking her head at the youngster.

In better lighting Carl was even more of an eye full then Odilia had originally thought. He seemed to be awestruck and she tried to keep from laughing at him. If she wasn't his bear's pot of honey, she didn't know what she was as she stared back at him an amused smile turning the corners of her lips.

Carl bubbled like champagne, it was nerves of that she was sure but she didn't know what had him so shaken. If first impressions were anything to go on she might have guessed the man to be a halfwit. Maybe good with a horse and a pretty face to string along the girls but lacking anything substantial between the ears. As it were, she had been raised to never judge a person by their cover, there was more to a person then what you could see with your eyes. Melody Hunt, her mother, had been all about the belief and hope in humanity. Nothing positive could be built if you were always looking over your shoulder looking to get stabbed in the back. Her father on the other hand cautioned the reality of the world and how to protect and defend your loved ones.

Fumbling with his introduction, Odilia stole a slice of bread tearing it in half as she started to feel for the man. Maybe it was the large family style meal, there weren't any other family in the area as large as hers and this was with the twins staying over at their friend's house. She didn't think her father to be an intimidating man. His face was wore form hard work but mostly from laugh lines. Silver was starting to take over the dark brown but she thought it made him more dashing then anything else. Yet, he was the Mayor and maybe this was the first time the Express Rider had been in a Mayor's house. She doubted it, Riders let alone Express Riders were as close to gods at mortals got.

The delivered package sobered Odilia of any cutesy defense she was drumming up in her mind. She knew that was, Remington and Bishop knew it too and deep frowns were etched into their too young faces. It was lost on the younger two, either of which had yet to look away from Carl. Reason enough to be nervous. The poor guy, he had after all been attacked the moment he stepped foot into the dining room.

Wyatt thumbed the package, his face a smiling mask as he placed it besides his bowl. He shared a quick look with hid daughter but then sat down, the smile never leaving his face.

"And what do you intend to do with said hands once my father passes the package off to you?" Odilia teased, a secretive smirk turning her lips. "What I mean to say," She continued ignoring the warning brow raise from her father. "Are you truly so eager to get your hands on this package that you would deny yourself food for it's possession?" Leaning forward she placed her elbows on the table and framed her face with one of her half fisted hands. The movement shifted her sweater and it gaped around the neckline showing more skin but far from anything revealing. "It sounds important." She cooed with a wink.

Wyatt grew tired of his daughter's teasing, not because he disapproved, he did a little but mostly because he was hungry and he didn't want to wait anymore. Clearing his throat he speared his eldest with a sharp look.

Knowing her father was polite enough to wait for their conversation to be finished before helping himself to food, Odi threw the Rider a bone. "Carl Peters, I'm your return package." Smiling she lifted the hand weaved basket and offered it to him. "Bread?' She asked as sweetly as she could a mischievous smile adding to the sparkle in her eyes.

"And what do you intend to do with said hands once my father passes the package off to you?"

Carl looked to the angel across the table from him as she asked her question, thankful for a legitimate reason to gaze upon her again. He was contemplating a response, a version of the Postal Service's promise to deliver each and every parcel with care and speed, but Odilia continued.

"What I mean to say ... Are you truly so eager to get your hands on this package that you would deny yourself food for it's possession?"

Odilia leaned forward over the dining room table, and the still standing Carl found himself staring down the front of her sweater. His eyes widened, not at what he saw -- some skin and then shadows beyond -- but at what he imagined was in those shadows. How long had it been since he'd seen a beautiful woman's bared bosom? Summer? Yes, summer: he and some of the male Carriers had peeped on the female carriers bathing in the creek upstream from East Sort, where a natural hot spring fed into a series of mud and concrete block pools before reaching the stream, thereby producing half a dozen pools of ever cooler hot baths.

Carl's ogle was broken by Odilia cooing, "It sounds important."

The rookie Express Rider wouldn't have answered Odilia's question if he'd wanted. Upon realizing that he'd been staring down the beauty's blouse, Carl glanced around to some of the other faces, his mind wondering Did they catch me...? Did they fucking catch me staring down their sister's shirt?? He looked to Wyatt, realizing that it was the father's reaction that he should be more concerned about than that of the siblings. Yet the family's patriarch seemed far more interested in his daughter than in the home's dinner guest, which was a relief.

But that relief soon vanished.

"Carl Peters, I'm your return package."

Carl stared at Odilia with a blank expression. Blank ... because he honestly hadn't understood the meaning behind her very simple statement. Then the vindictive little monsters in his brain who sometimes made him do things he shouldn't -- like stare down a Mayor's daughter's top, hoping to see titties -- must have flipped a switch in his gray matter. Carl laughed -- short and sharp, but still noticeably a laugh -- before looking about the table and finally settling his gaze on Wyatt.

"We can discuss this more after dinner if you'd like, Carl," Wyatt said, gesturing Carl to take his seat. The family patriarch glanced once again at his eldest daughter, then back to Carl, whose expression was beginning to slowly show evidence of getting the picture. He gestured politely, saying, "Please, sit. This can wait."

The munchkins on either side of Carl suddenly had his arms and pulled him enough to cause him to take the seat between them. But Carl's mind wasn't on food or drink: it was on How the hell can a girl be a package for me to deliver to ... to wherever?

"Bread?"

Carl looked to the offered basket, to Odilia, to her father, to the basket, to the others. The youngest of the family were eagerly filling their plates, with help as needed from the older siblings nearby, seemingly oblivious to what had just been said about the package; while the oldest of the family were shifting their attention between the younglings they were helping and the Express Rider whose expression looked like that of a man who'd just seen a ghost.

"Yes, please," Carl said softly, taking the basket, removing a roll, and passing the basket to a small hand that was waggling for it. He stared at the roll for a moment, unable to meet the eyes of those who he was sure had already known all about this planned and very unorthodox deliver. He murmured, "Thank you. It looks delicious. It all looks delicious."

The young pair flanking him began telling Carl all about the meal, from who plants what to who picked what to who cleaned what and who didn't because he or she doesn't like getting dirty or can't use a potato peeler and ... and ... oh, he wasn't listening, so they could have been talking about planting dinosaurs and peeling dragons, for all Carl knew. Carl's mind was still stuck on Carl Peters, I'm your return package.

He glanced often to Odilia, Wyatt, and the others, particularly the older siblings. He saw -- or thought he saw -- a wide gambit of expressions in their faces. He wished he'd known what was going on in their minds, because at least then he would have understood the emotions behind their looks and body language.

Carl might have been able to figure all of this out more easily if he'd expanded his thinking a bit. He was still stuck on the whole Carl Peters, I'm your return package part, and it was yet to occur to him to wonder why she was a package. It hadn't yet occurred to Carl that he was delivering what in the old days would have been called a mail order bride. Oh sure, he'd delivered Pen Pal letters between people in distant towns who had never met; and he'd sometimes learned that marriages occurred because of those long distance relationships. But he'd never delivered a bride personally. So, it hadn't yet occurred to him just what was what.

"Carl...?"

The Express Rider snapped back to the moment and looked to Wyatt with slight surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you'd ever been to Poseidon's Bay?" Wyatt repeated, smiling a bit, knowing that the younger man was overwhelmed. "I'm sure it's changed quite a bit, and I was wondering--"

"No, sir," Carl interrupted, quickly apologizing for having done so. After Wyatt dismissed the accidental rudeness with a polite wave, Carl went on, "I've never been farther west than The Dalles. There was a dam there, The Dalles Dam."

Carl felt his face turn red. "Duh, I guess. Anyway, 'bout a decade ago, we opened a route to The Dalles. The radiative dust and top soil blowing in from Portland each Spring had decreased to the point that the area could be occupied again without--"

Carl stopped suddenly as he realized that both of the youngsters flanking him were now looking up at him, hanging on every word ... words that were about to describe the effects of radiation on the human body. Again, his mind thought Duh! He drank from the glass of apple juice that had been filled for him, giving him a moment to change the subject.

"They blew up the dam, 'bout eight years ago, and with some of the other dams already destroyed during after the..." Carl hesitated again, not wanting to use the word War. He went on, knowing Wyatt and the elder children would understand, "Now, the salmon can make it all the way to Washington and Idaho. I was taught in school that the salmon--"

"You go to school, too!"

Suddenly, his flankers were on about school and what they were learning and wanting to know whether Carl was still in school and would they still be in school at his age and whether he'd learned to ride an Express Pony in school and--

"Children!"

Nearly everyone at the table, including Carl, turned to the raised and yet somehow still polite and calm voice of Wyatt Hunt. "I'm sure that Carl will be happy to tell you all about his own education after dinner. Now ... eat."

The two little ones looked deflated as they returned to their plates. Carl waited a moment before continuing, "So, no, I haven't been to Poseidon's Bay, I guess is what I was saying."

He went back to eating his meal, and then he looked up suddenly and with his mouth still full of food it spoke the suddenly thought of realization that his brain had uncovered. "Is that where I'm taking you...? Poseidon's Bay?"

"He finds me funny." Odilia smirked turning to Remington. "See, and you say I'm not funny."

"You're not." He was quick to correct, lifting his drink to hide his words and followed chuckle.

Odi narrowed her eyes at the brother who was nearly a man, catching his smile and returning one of her own.

The next few minutes were barely contained chaos as plates and bowls were passed from one person to the next as they filled their own plates full. Odilia served herself a small ladle of stew and another of just broth. Carl's appearance wasn't as joyful for her as it was for the rest of the town and her stomach knotted and rolled. Watching him, she smiled as the youngest two monopolized Carl and the conversation but it was clear to her that he was dazed and she felt guilty for having teased him so.

Her father tried to save the man but he was far from his body, his mind elsewhere but he scrambled to return, quickly answering Wyatt in his rambling nervous way.

"Radi-ration people vomit. It's the first sign." Dove filled in when Carl paused in his story about the Dalles. "One man lost his hair and his skin,"

"Not at the table Turtle Dove." As stern as her tone was, Odilia soften it with a proud smile.

The youngster nodded and kept quiet as Carl continued to speak.

Odilia noticed that him censoring his tale and while she appreciated Carl's attempt at delicacy, the Hunt children were well aware of what had happened and more importantly what was going on that his efforts were useless. His answer boiled down to a no, she had surmised as much halfway through the tale.

Picking at her food, Odilia tore her bread into little pieces and soaked up the broth but more pushed her food about her plate so it looked like she was eating. The only person that seemed to notice that she wasn't eating was her father and his face showed nothing but a haunted sorrow behind an empty smile.

Dinner itself passed with light conversations about trivial things. Dove and Amos badgered Carl, stopping only between mouthfuls and hardened glares from herself and their father. The two older boys kept quiet, adding to the conversation only when it struck their fancy.

When everyone was finished eating or pretending to,Wyatt stood up and nodded to Odilia then Carl. The children split up and gathered up plates and started to clean up.

"We should have the necessary privacy needed on the deck." The large deck upstairs above what had once been the garage was only accessible through his room and Wyatt left the dining room and headed down the hall and up the stairs.

The patchwork flooring continued upstairs, as did the cream colored aged walls. Wyatt's room was simply furnished a timber made bed frame and bed was tucked against the south wall with a chest at the foot of the bed with a sturdy set of boots to one side. A tea stove sat on a stone pillar against the west wall between the windows and a worn desk claimed the north wall. A single hand painted portrait of Melody Hunt roughly the side of a standard sheet of paper was hung on the east wall between the two doors.

Outside on the deck a pergola shaded most of it, withered vines hung from the rafters. A table and chairs on it's last stage of life sat in the middle of the deck, one of its legs propped up by a brick. The chairs were battered, the backs of many of them woven and patched to a solid frame. The four chairs were a sorry sight but they stood to hold a person and offered a comfortable place to relax. A large outdoor stove sat behind the table to the east wall and it was the first place Wyatt went. A pile of wood and a metal box of started material sat next to the stove and Wyatt quickly built a fire.

"I'm sure you have questions." Wyatt sat down at the north most chair and placed the unopened package on the table with a pained frown. "If I know my daughter, I know she'll have questions." He dryly chucked as Odilia took the seat to his right farthest from the stove, reserving the warmest spot for Carl.

"I'm sure you have questions ... If I know my daughter, I know she'll have questions."

"Why me?" Carl asked, almost before Wyatt had finished speaking. He quickly clarified, "I mean, why the Postal Service? I am correct that you want me to deliver your daughter to Poseidon's Bay, yes?"

"Yes," Wyatt answered simply.

"Again, I ask ... why?" Carl continued with a respectful tone. "You could take her. You and your sons. Or men from your town. From Mossbank. Or perhaps men from Poseidon's Bay could come here for her. I presume there is someone there who cares about her safe arrival, yes?"

Even though no one had told him it plain and clear, Carl had come to the undeniable conclusion that Odilia was, in fact, to be a mail order bride to the Sheriff of Poseidon's Bay, this Victor Wolfe. It didn't take a genius to figure that out, and Carl even felt a bit stupid having not figured it out earlier. Maybe mail order bride wasn't entirely appropriate: she was the daughter of a town Mayor, and her intended was reportedly the most important and more powerful man in all of Southwestern Washington, in not ever farther beyond than that.

"Perhaps someone of great importance in Poseidon's Bay cares about her safe arrival," Carl said, before glancing briefly to Odilia, then back to her father before continuing, "Which makes me wonder why he isn't--"

"The Sheriff of Poseidon's Bay is a man of great importance, yes," Wyatt said, confirming Carl's assumption without realizing the truth hadn't already come to be inside the young man's skull. "But, as powerful as he is, he can't protect Odilia on such a trek the way you can--"

Carl laughed, then quickly stifled it, saying, "Forgive me, sir. I did not--"

"Why do you laugh at that, Carl?" Wyatt asked, genuinely unsure.

"The Sheriff could send ten men ... twenty ... a hundred men to escort Odilia back to Poseidon's Bay--"

"And if a fight ensued," Wyatt cut in again, "even if it was won, my daughter could be harmed ... even killed. And with her death would come the death of our town. And our people."

Wyatt could see in Carl's eyes that he didn't understand -- probably couldn't even contemplate -- the significance to Mossbank and its population of Odilia's betrothal to Victor. He could have explained, but instead went on, "There are many people and towns between Poseidon's Bay and Mossbank that are Sheriff Wolfe's friends. But, there are just as many who are not his friends. These people would do anything to prevent the Sheriff from getting what he wants."

Wyatt leaned in closer and, reaching a hand under the small table, patted his daughter lovingly on the knee. He knew she was only agreeing to this deal with Wolfe because it was the only way Wyatt thought Mossbank would survive. He hated the idea that soon enough his daughter would be laying on her back, knees high and parted, while a power-hungry tyrant found pleasure deep inside her while she herself likely wept in despair. But what choice did he have?

"These people, though," he continued, "from the Pacific to the Rockies and beyond ... they may be enemies or allies of the Sheriff ... but there is one thing that they all have in common. They all respect the Postal Service."

He reached out to take Carl's cap from where it was sitting on the edge off the table, pointed to the hand stitched logo upon it, and told him with a confident, sincere tone, "This symbol ... and the credentials you carry in your satchel ... they are the only protection my daughter needs."

Her father spoke of her as if she were a fair maiden, weak and silly to the way of things. It was something Odilia had half a mind to get worked up over but she knew to a certain degree he had a point. The distance from Mossbank to her birth town was far and there were a lot of dangers between point A and point B.

"Sir?" A voice called from below.

Odilia stood and peered over the deck balcony, nodding a hello at Thomas Enders, a man in his forties who had lost his leg five years past. "I believe Thomas is needing your help to round up his brother."

Mark Enders had lost his wife and children and had since become the town drunk, getting into trouble and causing a ruckus all hours of the day.

"Am I right Thomas?"

The man below rung his hands over and around his twist hat and nodded sheepishly. "Got himself locked in the town hall and won't come out. Your Pa being the only one with the key..."

Wyatt sighted and got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me." It was a weekly occurrence that Mayor Hunt had be called on to wrangle in Mark but he had never been dangerous and since they had last their lawman to the last raid there was no one else to step in and pick up the slack.

Odilia watched her father leave before turning to Carl an amused smile on her face as she leaned back against the banister taking in the sight of him. "I take it I'm the first person you've ever delivered?" She had more questions she wanted to ask but a deep nicker and impatient hoof stomp left no doubt who was waiting for her below.

Winter snorted and pawed the ground again as if signaling her to hurry. Tickled by the mustang's antics Odilia threw a leg over the side and followed over, catching the lattis and climbing over and down.

Assuming that Winter wanted to go in the garage, a first since she had known him she started unlocking the doors when he nipped at her sweater and pulled. "What?" She asked the powerful animal circling to look him in the eye.

He snorted again and turned around and away from the garage stall. It seemed he had somewhere he wanted to go and he wanted her to go with him.

"Hey Carl!" She shouted swinging up onto the horse's bareback. "Care to go on a moonlit ride with me and Winter?" Odilia invited holding her hand out to him.

As Carl watched, Odilia went over the balcony's railing and disappeared down out of sight. With wide eyes, Carl leapt up and moved to the railing, finding the beauty skillfully climbing down the lattice. He laughed with surprise at the woman's boldness.

When Odilia reached the bottom, she joined her horse for some conversation, then turned and called up to the balcony, "Hey Carl! ... Care to go on a moonlit ride with me and Winter?"

Odilia gestured to Carl invitingly, and thinking she wanted him to pass over the edge as she had, he leaned over the edge to get a look at the way down. He laughed, then looked to Odilia and called down, "I think I'll use the stair, Miss."

Carl peeked over the side, his handsome face peering down at her. He really was a looker, innocent and goofy in an adorable way. Something about him made her smile and there wasn't much that made her smile these days.

"Nonsense!" Odilia chimed with laughter. "The lattice is stable enough and will be quicker then you navigating the house." She waved her hand towards him again and held it outreached waiting. "Or are you in the habit of making women wait?" The pout was fake and overly played, and knew it would come off as such but she teased Carl anyways.

Thinking of something real quick, Odilia slid off Winter and pushed the garage door just wide enough that she could squeeze through and within seconds was back out and comfortably back on Winter's back.

Winter snorted and pawed the ground, prancing in place. He was as patient as Odilia and she sang softly to him, "Sweke heki mos." petting his thick neck smiling as he settled under her words and touch.

Odilia had a plan to take him to her waterfall. Not that the house didn't provide the necessary privacy the she felt they would need, but she knew her siblings and they would find every and any reason to disrupt they conversation just to get more time with Carl to themselves. Tonight she wanted him all to herself, tomorrow morning she would share him with her family and the town. If this was to be the man who would protect her life she wanted to know the stock of the man himself, what he was made of and who he was. The journey would take a number of days and she had promised to stop at some of the smaller settlements on the way (sort of) there that would add time to the trip.

She had herd enough tales growing up from the horrors of kidnappings to events that made her Grandfather feel it necessary to tell about the beaver and the damn, a poorly constructed representation of sex. Not that she could ever see herself being one of those women that birthed a travel child by a postman. Odilia clicked her tongue distastefully. She knew that women threw themselves at riders, heck even Mossbank had a few who laid the charm on thick when Henry came into town.

Carl peeked over the edge of the home again, trying to study the lattice and its offered support. But the foliage still filling it, even just two days short of the end of November, left little of the wood in sight. He peeked down for Odilia again, only to find her absent, then hesitantly went over the edge.

Just about then, a door below him opened a bit. He saw the young woman emerge again, but Carl's attention settled more on the fact that the top and handle of the door now offered him some additional support. He tried to put as much of his weight on the opened door and was feeling confident about his descent when suddenly a lattice piece broke under his foot. He fell downward a foot or so, caught his footing, then lost his handhold. He fell straight back the last six feet to land flat on his back, the air rushing from his lungs in a loud umph!

It took a moment for him to regain himself, but soon enough he was using a hand offered from the mounted Odilia to sling up behind her on Winter. And in a rush, they were off. Carl grasped tightly around the young woman's middle, suddenly self conscious of the physical proximity of their bodies. He was more worried about falling off than of being accused of being too personal with Odilia. After all, he'd only begun riding a few years earlier, and -- while he'd sometimes ridden double on a saddled horse -- he'd never ridden a horse bareback, particularly at night behind a woman for whom he suddenly realized he had an erection.

The up and down nature of his penis varied with the wildness of the ride. Carl tried to keep his fear hidden within him, but sometimes little sounds of surprise slipped from between his lips. When they finally reached their location, Carl slipped off Winter and quickly rearranged the position of his once again hard cock, thankful that with his back to the full moon above the readjusting at his groin and swelling there weren't too conspicuous.

​Noise when Odilia returned outside had her looking up, Carl was really using the lattice. She didn't think he would have and had expected there to be more time before he ​got downstairs and outside. He didn't look to sure of himself but she and her siblings, ever her Father a time or two had climbed up and down the lattice so she wasn't too worried and swung up on Winter again.

She hadn't so much as brushed off her concern for Carl when there was a loud snap and she turned in time to see him slip, nearly catch himself before falling back, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

"Oh, Carl!" Odilia slid from the horse's back and crouched besides Carl, her hands fluttering over him searching for injuries. "I'm so sorry, it was my fault you climbed down, I pressured you." She fussed, reassured that he had just knocked the wind from his lungs as he quickly recovered. "And I had even assured you it was stable." The frown on her face wrinkled her forehead and she shooed the curious horse away before swinging for the third time that night upon his back. "At least let me help you up." She smiled down at Carl trying to convey her sincere apologies in the gesture.

He didn't say anything but he did take her hand, swinging up behind her with some assistance. Winter's ear's pinned for a second but Odilia soothed him with kiss noises. Winter snorted, shook his head towards the ground and started at a trot out of town. Odilia gave him his head and just threaded her fingers through his mane.

The trot broke into an easy canter once they crossed the village line and the road opened into a pasture. There was little Odilia needed to do to guide Winter, he was of the similar mind heading towards her waterfall, giving to corrections to lead him away from fallen trees or hidden rocks she knew grew in the wheat field.

Once they ventured into the woods, Winter picked up his pace and stretched out into a full gallop, his hooves beating out a steady three count gait. Odilia hadn't even thought to keep Winter to a slower pace until she heard a sound from behind her. Leaning back, she shifted her weight and double tapped winter on his shoulder, slowing him back down to a canter. Peering over her shoulder she glimpsed Carl, his face looked flushed up with as dark as it was maybe that was just her imagination.

The canter slowed once again to a walk as they broke away from the path to take a game trail up the hill.

"This is my favorite place, my place to think and to be alone." Odilia explained as the trees got tighter around them. In the distance she could hear the waterfall and smiled. "No matter what it going on it has this way of soothing my worries and calming my soul." As the sound got louder the trees started to thin and a few minutes later they broke through the treeline to a small meadow and sandy gravel beach.

Carl was quick to dismount but Odilia nudged Winder over to an old tree with a hole in it's trunk. The hold far too shallow for it to house a creature but gave enough of a shelf to hide a handful of things. Using the Winter's added height, Odilia unrolled a firestarter and some tightly packed cotton squares. Sliding from Winter's back she gathered an armful of dried wood from the back of the tree and walked to the ring of stones with their ashy sooty remnants of past fires.

Without speaking she started a fire and settled as the smaller sticks started to catch. The whole time unaware of the discomfort she had forced upon Carl.

​"So Carl, are you married or otherwise involved?" Odilia asked cutting straight to the point, she wasn't much for beating around the bush.​