His horse tumbled up and down. He shook his head, still dazed from the cheap and watered mug of ale. Crowds of empty carriages, forming a single line, sat waiting for the entry into an area.
He knew then, it was the right place.
The staging area was bustling. Coachmen aligned their carriages while workers filled those same carriages with commodities. Ranging from iron from the western mines, spices from the south and blocks of fur from the north.
"Men of the Yolk merchant group! Prepare to depart now!" a screamer screamed from atop the front carriage, his voice overwriting the mumblings and chatterings of all others in the place.
The reins of the horse were in his hand as he walked forward, guiding the gelded brown animal through the crowd. While his black eyes glinted over the warm yet unforgiving sun of autumn searched for Hans, ratface.
"Hey!" Hans called, approaching Hubert from the front.
