Jack retrieves Sarah some water from their satchel just before she notices the bag and snatches it away for an impromptu pillow. He chuckles at the little brat and sits the water next to her, then makes his way towards the toppled wagon. Most of the field fires are either dead or dying as he winds through several dwindling plumes of smoke.

  The half-mile walk to the wagon is a sobering one as he’s reminded just how remarkable the portals are, only being equaled in the danger they present if falling into the wrong hands. He looks over some of the cargo scattered about the field, seeing a pile of splinters and misshapen wood that rest in a heap, the former crate no longer being fit to serve as a container.

  Jack hears a weary exhale and makes his way to the front of the wagon as it sits in the roadway. Still fastened into the carriage rigging, a horse is alive but too exhausted to express the panic that still courses through its nervous system.

  “Easy, girl,” Jack says, kneeling beside her. He looks her over to find several scrapes, but nothing that appears fatal. He unfastens some of her straps while cutting away others. Her eye is wide with restlessness. After some petting and soothing words, her tension finally eases.

  Jack gets up again, beginning to mill around the scattered cargo. He finds two banded barrels, both busted, but he takes up the one with an end still intact. His hatchet comes out of his belt and goes to work on cutting down the protruding shards of wood along the lip of his new bowl. Further searching yields various vegetables, water skins, and a sack of grain, all of which are gathered up.

  Jack bites the end of one a carrot as he sits the grain sack down near the horse. “How you doin, Betsy?” he asks, the crunch of the carrot loud between his words. “You—feeling better—now?”

  Betsy’s eye begins to track him as he crouches and places his hand against the side of her nose. “Guess what I found,” he says smacking.

  Dirt stirs next to her nose as she exhales forcefully, then nickers.

  “Oh yeah? Does Betsy want some of my carrot?” He takes another bite and then extends it towards her. Her lips reach for it as she keeps her head still, and Jack pulls it away. “Nah-uh. You can’t have some unless you sit up. Can you sit up for me?”

  She lets out a long whinny only to cause Jack to turn up his nose and begin shaking his head while looking away from her. “Oh, no. I don’t want to hear it. If you want some of this, you’re going to have to sit up for it.”

  Betsy nickers again, then lifts her head, groaning.

  Jack quickly cradles under her neck. “Atta, girl,” he grunts as he helps her roll to her belly. “Good job,” he says while giving the congratulation pets and proffering her a fresh carrot.

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  She eagerly accepts the carrot, then seems to compete with Jack’s previous efforts of crunching as loud as possible.

  “That good, huh?” Jack asks, chuckling.

  Betsy turns her head into him, almost pushing him out of his squatted position.

  “Alright, alright,” Jack protests as he leans over to grab the other supplies. He begins shaking his head as he drags the bowl around before passing another carrot to her. “Just like a woman. I bet you don’t have a patient bone in your body, do you?”

  Betsy continues to chew her carrot as she watches Jack empty several water skins into the former barrel. She continues to slowly follow his prompting, getting answered with more praise and encouragement. A broken container forms a partial trough of grain she can access without getting up, while a few more carrots lie beyond. The carrots are within view, but suspiciously out of reach.

  “Alright, Betsy. I’m going to move some of this stuff.” She lets out another whinny and is answered by a calming hand gesture. “It’s fine. I’m coming right back.”

  Jack stands and grabs a long portion of wood that is jutting from the wagon and suspended above her. He weakens it with his hatchet before wrenching it, eventually breaking it free and tossing it to the roadside. Betsy turns to look over her backside as Jack begins moving the wagon away from her. Deep gouges are cut into the road as broken components protest his effort.

  “That’ll do,” he says with a nod. He turns back to see her watching him. “Don’t need that being in your way when you’re ready to get up, do we, Betsy?” She nickers again as he brushes her face.

  “Betsy?” Sarah asks from nearby.

  Jack turns back to see her and Wolf approaching. “Hey, Wolf,” Jack starts, “Do you mind waiting—”

  “Say no more,” Wolf interjects, having seen Jack with the horse and understanding his concern. “I already had my fill of rabbit while the princess was getting her beauty rest. I’ll just hang out over here,” he says, gesturing to the roadside.

  Jack nods. “Thanks, bud.”

  Sarah ignores the princess bit, instead continuing to look at Jack. “Where did Betsy come from?”

  “She was scared,” he replies, “and I didn’t have anything else to call her by.

  “So you named her Betsy?”

  “Well, I was going to name her Sarah, but then I remembered that I wasn’t naming the other end of her. So yeah, I named her Betsy.”

  “A horse’s ass?” Sarah asks, eyes narrowed. “Really, Jack? I thought you were better than that.”

  Jack shrugs. “I guess not.”

  Wolf begins to wheeze and Sarah, now standing between them, spins to glare. Through his heightening sense of self-preservation and a male-ingrained fear of women scorned, he stops abruptly and averts his gaze. Before now, he had never acknowledged his nails a day in his life, but by the time Sarah is looking at him, he has confirmed that they do exist and began searching underneath them—a find undoubtedly requiring further scrutinizing.

  “What happened to the driver,” Sarah asks, her eyes lingering on Wolf a moment longer.

  “He ran,” Jack replies. “When he came to, he looked around, muttered something about a werewolf, and bolted. You might have hit him too hard because me and Wolf looked, but we didn’t find any werewolves.”

  Wolf snorteezes, his wheeze cutting short before Sarah can turn around again.

  “What has gotten into you two?” Sarah asks with wide eyes. Her gaze settles back on Jack, and she shakes her head. “And before you even ask, no, we can’t keep the horse.”

  “Aw,” Jack mumbles, wounded.

  “Let’s just get out of here before something else provokes a fight. Are you two ready?” She looks between the two of them, receiving nods, then draws her blade and opens a portal to pursue a new world.