The Map Only I Can Read

Ren circled back toward the merchant quarter, where the scent of hay and sweat mingled with the low din of shouting stablehands and creaking wagon wheels. It wasn't the prettiest part of Ironpeak—but it was honest, and necessary.

He moved past rows of carts and carriages, eyeing each with care. Too large. Too splintered. Too gaudy. Then one caught his attention—a midsized wooden wagon, solid axles, a canvas cover already tied down, and wheels that looked like they wouldn't betray him on the first rough trail.

"How much for this one?" Ren asked the merchant tending the lot.

The man scratched his beard, giving Ren a casual once-over. "Two gold for the wagon. Another if you want her paired with the horse."

Ren stepped closer to the mare—broad-shouldered, chestnut-coated, calm-eyed. She met his gaze without a single flinch. There was steadiness in her stance. Not fire. Not fear. Just quiet strength.

"She's solid," Ren said. "But she's seen some years, hasn't she?" He ran a hand down her neck, studying her movements. "One gold and five silver for the wagon. One for the horse. That's fairer."

A pause. The merchant grunted, then nodded. "Done. She'll carry what you need and won't give you trouble."

"I'll need another horse," Ren added, stepping back. "Find me a good male. Calm, strong, and easy to pair with her. Same price. At the latest, tomorrow morning."

"I'll ask around," the man said. "If I find one that matches her gait, I'll hold it for you."

Ren paid the coin and moved on to inspect the wagon's brake bar, reins, and wheel hubs. All solid. Well-used, but maintained. As he began loading it with tools, sacks of seed, and other goods, he arranged with several vendors to pack and hold the bulkier supplies—crates for hens and rabbits, animal feed, lime, and charcoal mesh—for pickup later. No point dragging it all through the streets mid-shopping.

He climbed onto the wagon's bench and grabbed the reins, testing their weight in his hands.

"So… how do I drive this?" he asked, adjusting his grip.

"You've never driven a wagon?" the merchant raised a brow.

"Ridden, yeah. Driven? Not so much. I was usually the one sitting in the back while someone else pulled the strings."

The merchant chuckled and gave the mare a firm rub between the ears. "You're lucky then. Her name's Becca—strong, calm, and well-broke. She knows her job."

Ren reached out and placed a hand on her broad neck. Becca gave a quiet huff, then gently pressed her forehead to his cheek.

The merchant smiled. "Looks like she already picked you."

Ren chuckled. "I like her too."

The merchant gestured to the reins. "Alright. Start her off with a tongue click and a bit of slack in the reins. She'll walk. Want her to stop? Pull back slow—steady, not sudden. Let her feel the command, not the panic."

Ren clicked his tongue.

Becca stepped forward smoothly, hooves thudding against packed dirt. The wagon creaked to life behind her.

"Now ease her left," the merchant called out. "Little pull on the rein… good, just like—whoa, not that hard!"

Ren tugged a bit too sharply. The rear wheel clipped the edge of a feed trough with a heavy thunk.

"Stop! Back pressure!" the merchant barked.

Ren pulled both reins evenly. Becca slowed and came to a clean halt with a soft snort.

The merchant walked up, boots crunching gravel. "You've got decent instincts, but wagons don't turn like carts. Big girl like Becca? She's got a wide swing. Try that again and you'll crack an axle or worse."

Ren nodded, lips pressed. "Noted."

The man's voice softened. "You're doing better than most beginners. But take this serious—if a wheel catches wrong on a slope or she bolts when you're off balance? It won't be just your pride that takes the hit. Wagons kill when they flip."

Ren met his eyes, focused now.

"Again," the merchant said. "I'll walk with you this time. I'll lead, you guide."

With the reins in hand, Ren walked beside Becca and the merchant, letting her learn his rhythm as she pulled the wagon in slow, obedient steps.

No resistance. No stumbles. Just steady movement.

After a few careful laps, the merchant gave a satisfied nod. "There. You've got it. Keep that calm, and she'll follow you to the edge of the world."

Ren exhaled and gave Becca another pat. "Good girl."

Becca flicked her ears and let out a low, contented breath.

The merchant smirked. "...better than she listens to me."

It came easier than Ren expected. Not just skill—but memory. Something buried, something familiar.

Like he was always meant to drive this wagon.

Or maybe, because it's Becca?

As Ren made another pass around the wagon, he paused at the rear and eyed the space. "I'll need to reinforce the bed. She'll be hauling supplies over rough country. Might want to add some padding, too—don't want the seed sacks tearing every time we hit a dip."

The merchant raised a brow. "You plan on heading far?"

Ren didn't answer right away. He was thinking again—his eyes scanning angles, imagining weight distribution, axle strain, the way the canvas cover would hold under rain and wind. His old habits from Earth—rural planning, terrain analysis, cargo logistics—they'd become instinct now.

"Far enough that I can't afford broken wheels or spooked horses," he finally said. "I'm building something. Out in the Wasteland."

The man blinked. "You? Out there?"

"Someone has to." Ren ran a hand along the wagon's side panel, already envisioning compartments, side hooks, barrel brackets.

"You're either mad or brave," the merchant said. "Or maybe just desperate."

Ren gave a dry smile. "Maybe all three."

He led Becca a little further down the road, letting her feel the slight incline. She moved with quiet confidence, her hooves sure even as a gust of wind rattled a hanging sign nearby.

A group of children ran past on the far side of the street, laughing as they chased a stick with a ribbon tied to it. One of them stopped short when he saw Becca, wide-eyed.

"Whoa! That's a big girl!"

Ren grinned. "She's Becca—the strongest on the block."

The boy gave her a cautious wave. Becca huffed once, then leaned her head down just enough to sniff his hair. The boy squealed and ran after his friends, leaving Ren chuckling softly.

He turned to the merchant, who was finishing up with another customer. "What does she like? Treats, I mean."

"Turnips. Fresh, if you can get them. She'll nuzzle your pockets for 'em if she catches the smell."

Ren made a mental note. He'd picked up a few earlier.

With one last circle through the yard, he stopped the wagon near the stables and climbed down.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Same time. I'll be back for the second horse."

The merchant nodded. "And Becca'll be ready."

As Ren walked away, he glanced over his shoulder. Becca watched him, ears forward, steady as stone.

"Good girl," he said again under his breath.

Maybe she wasn't just a horse.

Maybe she was the first real ally in this mad dream of his.