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The Burning Sky #8
Footloose and fancy free for a time, until I got to my destination, Montpelier, where a message or two would be awaiting me, I hoped. Anything more urgent would find me, and so far, that hadn’t happened; both Family and the Sky Service fared well enough without me. My passenger, too, ignored me; facing forward, I had to assume, it squatted on its long spider legs to see over the dash, but appeared content.
At a crossroad, a signpost declared Montpelier to the north and Burlington to the west. I looked to the mechanical, now with three legs propped against the dash so it could see, I supposed. I made a mental note to look for an eye, some kind of sight sensor, but it reminded me of a hound I once had, suddenly alert. Yet it made no motion of which direction it preferred, so I kept to my path.
Within a few moments, flashing lights and high-pitched beeping nearly sent us into a ditch. Half deafened and mostly blinded, I panicked and swerved, then over corrected to avoid a drover and an empty cart, by my own god of luck…