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I studied Ora from across the table—their maroon scarf, their high-waisted trousers that ballooned out in colorful brocade, the fabric-covered buttons that trailed down their billowy shirt... Everything about them seemed so free, so unencumbered by the rules with which I’d lived my entire life. I didn’t even know someone was allowed to be this way—not that humans needed to seek permission to be all the things they felt inside. I continued shoveling more jara into my mouth but kept peeking at Ora, feeling like a key was being placed in a lock that I was too afraid to turn.
The wagon rattled along the road. Ribbons hanging from the bronzed chandelier swayed above us like prairie grass. I reached up and touched a finger to one ribbon, each one stitched with a trail of little badges in various shapes: suns, swords, animals, food...
“What are these?” I traced a finger over the embroidered badge in the shape of a candle.
“There’s one for each of the people who have called Galen den’ Mora home,” Ora said, rubbing their thumb over the nearest ribbon. “You should think about what you want your badge to look like. A songbird perhaps?”
“You’d have to pick a new color.” Malou huffed, dipping apiece of flatbread into her stew. “We’ve already had a red, green, yellow, and blue songbird. What colors do you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what colors you like?” Malou’s eyebrows shot up, and Ora gave her a look.
“Besides.” I grinned. “You haven’t heard me sing yet.”
“Ten gritas says she’s good,” Malou said, giving me a wink. Mina signed to her sister with a mischievous smile. “Deal.”
“What happened to all of them?” I asked, admiring the hundreds of little badges trailing above the dining table.
“Most of them moved on to other lives,” Ora said, eyes softening. “Some passed away. Galen den’ Mora has been traveling for longer than I’ve been alive. I was born in this very wagon.” They waved around them. “This place was my grandmother’s dying wish. A home for any traveler with a song in their heart. The wheels never break and the oxen never tire. Galen den’ Mora rolls on forever. Life and death, a whole world, within this rolling home.”
“That’s beautiful,” I murmured.
“It’s part of a song I wrote.” Ora smirked. “‘The Traveling Bard of Hallisville.’”
“You wrote that?” I’d heard it before. “Though it was called ‘The Wolf of Hallisville’ when they performed it.”
“Must’ve been a servant at some Wolf fete, then.” Ora huffed. “The Wolves always steal our songs and make them their own.”
Mina signed something I guessed was about Wolves and Ora chuckled. I looked at Malou to translate.
“Esh,” Malou muttered. “The Wolves killed a few monsters hundreds of years ago and now they think everything belongs to them.”
“The humans granted the Wolves their sovereignty for their protection against monsters and magic wielders,” I said, garnering a snort from the twins.
“I didn’t realize the humans of Damrienn cared for their Wolves so much,” Malou jeered. “If the Wolves were our protectors, theywould’ve dealt with Sawyn, but they all turned a blind eye to the suffering of the Olmderians,” she hissed. “Because it didn’t affect their crowns or their gold.”
Ora shook their head. “Maybe their ancestors had good intentions, but the Wolves haven’t cared a crover about the humans in a long time.”
I bobbed my head along in agreement, trying to blend in. This was how humans talked. I sounded too much like a Wolf—an unwelcome guest in any human troupe. I made a note to be more careful with my words and reactions.
Mina stood, bringing her empty plate to the basin.
Malou nodded. “Go swap with Navin before the stew goes cold.”
My eyes tracked Mina as she climbed toward the front of the wagon, and I realized I’d only seen a small part of this giant structure. “Do the oxen never stop?”
“They don’t need to,” Ora said, “but we like to give them time to rest and graze anyway.”
“That’s how you joined us,” Malou said, laughing.
I laughed as well, then whispered, “This place is amazing,” looking around the space again. Little details covered every corner—buttons and velvets and potted herbs. I could spot influences from every kingdom, from the dented copper bowls and colorful rugs of Valta to the fur-trimmed hats of Taigos.
“You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” Malou said. “You want to have a wash?”
“A wash? On a moving wagon?” I dropped my spoon into my empty bowl with a clang.
She pushed back from the table and beckoned me to follow. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
