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Uzoamaka trudged along too. She didn't wear her usual saddle and livery, that was unusual for her. She'd had it taken off to be cleaned, but more than that, she was just tired, so tired. She didn't want anyone on her back, or bags hanging from her sides. She, whose name meant "the road is good," was tired of the road for the time being. Patches of her fur were worn thin from the rubbing of her tack, but physical discomfort wasn't the reason. The fatigue came from somewhere much deeper.

Frustrated, she glared at the path ahead of her. She should have known better than to set out with that crew. They were ill dressed and ill prepared. She didn't consider messiness much of a flaw, but their disorganization stemmed from a general lack of preparation for the journey, something she wouldn't realize until much later. Once they were on the road, their shortcomings had become more clear. They had packed the wrong supplies, or not enough of them. There wasn't enough food to go around. She could manage on little, but some got ill. One died, a sweet little human child whose hands were gentle on Uzoamaka's weary skin. Uzoamaka hadn't forgiven anyone there for what had happened to that child.

These thoughts hovered darkly around her as she walked. Normally quite perceptive, she almost didn't notice the other soquili until she was upon him. She pulled up when she did, surprised. With his smoky mane and extravagant markings, he cut quite the unusual figure. "Good afternoon," she said reflexively upon their meeting.

"I don't think it is," Uzoamaka delivered the words with a wry wrinkling of her snout. Neither of them were in a good mood, that was clear. It was a relief to not have to hold up a pretense of otherwise.