Verbena travels to Soul's Landing

[Verbena Domitia]

[June 28th, 11:23AM]

Verbena sits by the roadside on her way to Soul's Landing. Despondent, she scratches a tally in the dust with a twig: five days, if she's kept accurate count. She frowns. Shouldn't she have arrived by now? She knows she's no expert with the oxen (unsurprisingly, they had failed to respond to the tiara and title with appropriate deference), but she hadn't thought she was all that slow. Verbena pushes away the curdling dread that the directions she was given were deliberately misleading; there's no sense in the idea. Besides, she's on a road, more or less, and a road leads somewhere. If needed, someone along the way will be able to direct her to Soul's Landing. She coughs roughly as she tosses away the twig and heads back to the cart, clicking her tongue at the grazing beasts. Nothing for it but to continue along the path.

[Verbena Domitia]

[June 29th, 6:19PM]

Verbena is going to get to Soul's Landing safe and sound. She knows that this is predetermined. That doesn't guarantee a comfortable journey.
Another icy raindrop runs down Verbena's spine, prompting her to shiver as she glowers at the front wheel of the cart. It's half-submerged in a puddle and will go no further. She's already tried using branches as levers to raise it out (each had cracked under the strain), draining the puddle by handfuls (it was far too large), and shouting at the oxen to pull harder (the even-tempered creatures were unmoved).
She unyokes the oxen and leads them to the roadside. Standing behind the cart, she gives it a solid kick. No luck. A second kick succeeds only in sending a painful shock through her foot. The third and final causes her rear foot to slip, and Verbena finds herself gasping on her back in the mud. She stays there for a moment, eyes closed and unmoving, indulging herself in feelings of acute misery as the water soaks through her coat. Then she pushes herself into a seated position, hands sinking into the muck. An idea occurs to her.
Making slow progress despite her feet sliding on the slick road, Verbena pushes the cart back as far as she can, about a foot. For the next hour, she carries armloads of wet, peaty earth from the roadside to the puddle, filling it in from the edge to create a smooth ramp out. She hitches up the oxen and sets them pulling. The wheel sinks; the ramp is too soft. Half an hour later, it's firm enough, but too steep. Finally, three hours since the cart had first become stuck, the oxen drag it free.
Verbena gives a shout of victory and pats the beasts' flanks. She clambers aboard the moving cart and crawls underneath the canvas sheet that covers her possessions. Her stiff hands shakily peel off her drenched garments and pull a dry nightgown over her head, as she struggles to stay beneath the canvas and out of the rain. Her fingers and toes prick with the pain of rewarming as she curls in on herself, shivering and rubbing her arms until some heat is restored to her muscles. Once nearly warmed, she tugs the canvas around herself like a blanket, clutching it at her throat to create a hood. The weight of the fabric causes her tiara to dig into her scalp, but not for a moment does she consider removing it. Settling moodily into her discomfort, she squints into the sheets of rain, keeping a close eye for further hazards on the road. Tonight will not be a night for sleep.
Gurok had better be damn appreciative of all this effort.