The axle of the fourth supply cart let out an agonized shriek as two teamsters struggled to wedge a replacement linchpin into the hub.
"Watch that hitching tongue!" one of the drivers yelled, ducking beneath the leather harness of an enormous gray draft horse.
"Hold the beast steady... we cannot secure the trace chains while you two are dancing in front of the wheels!" the teamster shouted, waving an oily wrench at the narrow gap beside the granary.
In the corridor between the stone granary wall and the rear wagon, neither Juna nor Vella was paying the slightest attention to the panicked draft horse.
Juna stood with her feet planted firmly in the slush, her upper body coiled forward like a hunting predator preparing to strike.
Her hood slipped backward, exposing the violent, defensive twitching of her silver wolf ears against her hair.
Her eyes were locked onto Vella with blistering hostility, her silver claws clicking steadily against the reinforced leather of her bracers.
