//------------------------------//
// Day 13 
// Story: The Winding Northward Road 
// by Rambling Writer 
//------------------------------//

Yay!  Day 13 is over and nothing bad or unlucky happened!

It was pretty uneventful, actually.  We trotted along, stopped at a small town, dropped off some crates of cherries and got some bits in return, continued on, rinse and repeat two more times.  Well, the third time we also dropped off the last first end stagecoach, and WOW did that make a difference.  I feel like I’m twice as strong as I was, and I know I was going for longer than I did before.  Not sore from yesterday’s running, surprisingly enough.  I thought I’d wake up unable to move my legs, but they don’t feel too bad.  Maybe all the walking I’ve done so far has made me stronger or more adjusted to walking?  Hmm.

At least nothing but trotting provides plenty of opportunities for talking.  Apparently, Jubilee started Cherry Hill Ranch herself with just a few trees when she was barely out of school and grew it to what it is today.  At least, that’s what Ann says; Dun suspects she inherited it from an old relative and the “started it herself” thing is just a tall tale.  He still says she started running it at the same age, though, and still enlarged it herself, so he’s not knocking her business acumen in the slightest, just a mild disagreement on its origins.

Montmorency Monty gave me a few tips on eating plants in the wilderness, and recommended I pick up a book on the subject in Baltimare, if only to avoid another cactus incident (yes, I told them about that; they tried not to laugh, but I could see them almost failing, but oh well).  But he also said that, while plants are USUALLY safe, if I’m not sure about it, I shouldn’t eat it.  It’s not like there isn’t plenty of grass around.

Speaking of which, we’ve completely left the desert behind and are in a light forest.  Ann says this is good, we should reach Baltimare ahead of their usual schedule (basically, what Nutberry said yesterday).  To celebrate, they broke out what would be their extra provisions, some tools, and made what they called “hobo pies”; take two slices of bread, stick whatever the heck you want between them, and roast them over the fire in a special frier.  Tried one with some cheese and vegetables; didn’t burn it, and tasted better than I expected.  Might pick up some food-food in Baltimare, too, if only to make hobo pies of my own.  Very full tonight.

Nights here are… not loud or noisy, but surprisingly sound-y (is that a word?).  Lots of animals making noise, especially owls.  Can’t see any, though; they must be good at hiding.  I hope one of them doesn’t try to crawl into my tent in the night.  (I’ll be able to sleep; there’s not too much noise for that.)

Some aquaint acquaintances
Go a long way to beat back
The road’s lonliness loneliness.