"Bander!? Are we in Creel, or did I go off course somehow, and ended up all the way back in Barking-by-the-Sea? No, no this can't be Barking, it doesn't smell like dog pee--"

Trashscarf tried to get to his feet, but his legs were feeling extremely ill-used and were throwing a general mutiny. It occurred to him that he probably should have done some stretching exercises before trying to run at speeds of miles per stride.

Bander bit the back of his coat collar, through the layers of scarf, and patiently held him upright while he got his legs underneath him like a wobbly colt.

Bander turned loose and flapped his lips trying to take the taste of scarf out of his teeth. "It's Creel-- I though you were heading along the coast? How'd you end up--"

"No time for stories, Bander! I've got a sick mustache and if I don't do something about it, it may be too late!" Trashscarf tried gently patting the mustache, and then yelped in dismay as a bit of it peeled away from his face, like lichen.

"It's not -that- bad," Bander said, turning his pinto head to look at Trashscarf with first one eye, then the other--blue and brown. "Honestly, the more you Human-types cover yourselves with fur, the better, in my opinion."

"It's not just a mustache, it's my friend, Fluffy," Trashscarf whimpered, and Bander finally realized that, against all odds and extremely out of character for him, the Waywalker was actually serious.

The mustache had peeled off entirely and the way he was holding it in his cupped palms like a baby bird, with his wide dark eyes tearing up, were a bit of a clue. Even Trashscarf wouldn't ham it up THAT much.

"What does...it... want?" Bander asked, warily. It wasn't every day you were asked to confront the possibility of a sick mustache.

"I don't know! It's actually a mycelium network--"

"A what?" Bander snorted, dubiously.

"Er, well, it's like a mushroom, kind of, so I guess what mushrooms like? Moisture, decaying plant matter, compost full of fertilizer?"

Trashscarf was babbling as he scrabbled through his scarf like a man trying to find one key on a chain of two dozen. He prodded the inert mustache with a bit of grass, a seashell, a gum wrapper and a paperclip, in quick succession, making encouraging sounds the while. None got any response from the sad little splat of fibers.

Bander looked thoughtful. "Fertilizer, huh? I think I've got a suggestion, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

"No sir, I don't like it," Trashscarf said, gritting his teeth, "But maybe Fluffy will--"

Just then, his sequence of experimental scrabbling had reached the sprig of red ivy that he had added in Fluffy's valley--still with a bit of dirt clinging to its threading roots.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Yes! Yes yes yes c'mon," Trashscarf whispered, gently pushing the dirty roots against the soft fibers of the mycelium. "You can't feed yourself, you can't feed off me, but I know you can connect to the ivy!"

Concentrating, with the mustache and ivy cupped in one hand, he carefully reached into the fibers with long fingers, and closed his eyes as he wove and knotted strands to strands, threads to threads, cells to cells. He didn't have much power left after his mad dash across the desert, but tying bits of things together was as natural as breathing.

Fluffy's fibers finally fluttered faintly. Trashscarf breathed out, as the downy fungus slowly infiltrated the roots of the ivy.

"Right," Trashscarf said, more confidently now. "-Now-, Bander my friend, I'll take you up on your offer-- but in a bucket, please."

A short time later, Trashscarf had gotten Fluffy and the ivy settled into a rusty pail, with some damp hay and horseclods. It looked like the mycellium was clinging well to the ivy roots, and the ivy roots were digging into the rich substrate.

The ivy, at least, seemed to be thriving; it was putting out new leaves, even, and Trashscarf was surprised to see they were green, instead of the autumnal colors. Perhaps the ivy only turned those colors in the murk of Fluffy's ruined valley.

"There you go, Clustertuft-- don't scare me like that! Also, you're not getting back on my face anytime soon without a bath first," Trashscarf chided the mustache gently.

It hadn't spoken again yet, and Trashscarf couldn't pick out the smell of woodsmoke from the other contents of the pail, but it looked like it was doing better. He might not have been a naturalist, but he'd seen plenty of moldy stuff in his time, and Fluffy was looking about like day five of a forgotten sandwich.

Speaking of which-- He dove into his pack and recovered half a burrito that had escaped the purge during his run, and devoured it like a starving dog. Like a starving dog would devour a burrito, that is, not like Trashscarf would devour a starving dog, because he wouldn't!

"Would a healer or a gardener or something help?" Bander asked, pricking his ears. "I can take you into town in the morning."

Trashscarf only now bothered to take in his surroundings more fully; the barn was part of an old farm, and only a couple miles of barren fields stretched between him and the lights of Creel now. It was still night; a single chime drifted up from the churchtowers of Creel in the distance. "Why aren't you already in town, Bander? And where are your thumbs?" Bander's wagon and harness were missing, too.

Bander snorted resentfully. "There's some new laws in Creel. All non-Humans have to be out of town proper by sunset. The lads wanted to stand by me, but I told them to go have fun-- they've never been out of their village before, so I'll probably have to pick them off the street tomorrow."

Trashscarf gaped. "No non-Humans after dark!? They actually ran you out of town for being a Horse?! How dare they?! Who the blazes would set such a law? Didn't you say anything? The King wouldn't--"

"Look, I don't want any trouble," Bander said firmly. "I'm a working Horse, I just want to haul my cargo and get paid. I don't smuggle, I don't adventure, and I for sure don't start arguing with a bunch of chainmailed chumps on their own turf. They're not blocking passage," Bander added, seeing Trashscarf trying to look determined. "They're just shuffling it around. Let it go. For now, anyway."

"All right, all right," Trashscarf said, trying not to dislocate his jaw as a yawn cracked his resolve. Fluffy seemed to be recovering, he was safe back on the Way and with another friend and a city ahead of him-- things were looking much better.

"But in the morning," he yawned firmly, "We are going into town, and we are getting BREAKFAST, and anyone standing in our way.... is going to have to move over when we ask them nicely!"

"I'll take a washtub of oatmeal and a bucket of coffee," Bander snorted in agreement. "Get some sleep."

Trashscarf, with one arm protectively around Fluffy's pail, nodded firmly. "We ride at dawn!"