Somewhere else in the world approximately unknown miles away, someone else's day started with the continuous rumbling of an engine, clanking of hanging metal, and the shuffle of sheets and blankets. With a yawn a young girl with dirty brown hair woke sleepily and shuffled out of her room. Not very large it held a bed and had a hanging pipe with homemade hangers. With a yawn and smacking of lips she pulled on some ragged looking cargo jeans, burn marks and patched pockets in a Sandy grey color, too loose to show off her figure, and a shirt of washed out dark green. She then grabbed her cloak, a dark maroon color, and stepped out her door.

Just outside her door was a hallway, leading mostly to other bedrooms, a bathroom, and finally ending at a kitchen, which further lead into the rest of the rig. Blinking sleepily she made her way to the bathroom, and luckily finding it empty, she got a small basin of water filled with water, and scrubbed her face and hair. Her daily ablutions complete, and feeling much more awake, she made her way back down the hallway, knocking loudly on doors, banging away to wake their occupants. Her hazel eyes dully stared down the hall towards the kitchen as she trudged her way forward. Six doors her fist did bang upon, and six doors did open. And then a flurry of activity as more energetic youths made their way about, and two more used to such things as early mornings. A total of ten people were awakened, all family of some kind, married in or of blood, but family they were.

Four adults, six children. Similar physical builds could easily be pointed out between some of the children and adults. Two of the youngest, fraternal twins, Benjo and his sister Holly were not quite fat, but weren't thin either. Healthy was a good term. Full of energy they sprinted for the bathroom and slammed the door, taking their time to wash each other's face and hair.

Next was the brothers, barely a year apart but they shared a room, Talger and Reeju. They were fit and rather muscular based on a diet of sand skeevers and hard work, and looked much like their father.

Next came Samuel, he was a tall young man, and had his own room, thin as a stick but very dexterous, he learned from his uncle the ways of the workshop, he wasn't quite a master Craftsman, but assembly was his forte so long as it was light. He had a sister, Annyal, her long hair flowed down her back, and was quite well done she was more of an artist, doing things like carving, glass blowing, and otherwise made utensils and day to day useful items. She held herself with a small amount of arrogance, more haughty than actually being above someone else, almost like she held herself to a standard and felt others should too.

Then came the parents. The parents of Benjo and Holly, her aunt Shacko, and her uncle by blood, Marik. Aunt Shacko was raised in a settlement and as such had a rather stable diet allowing her to become somewhat plump by starving standards, it was easy to see the healthy body of Benjo and Holly came from her. Uncle Marik on the other hand almost looked like he needed a cane, but that was because he slouched on top of his thin figure, but make no mistake, the man was a hunter of great reputation.

The other two were the parents of Talger and Reeju, uncle Edmond was the forgemaster of the rig, he taught his sons everything he knew, and the man knew seven hundred ways to swing a hammer... Or so he boasts. She could never tell the difference, and neither could his wife aunt Jumi, she did needlework more often, and it was thanks to her anyone had multiple sets of clothes. She was a bit on the thinner side, though she could work a spear as well as she could a needle, which made her not to be discounted when the hunts began in the SteelPiles. She also did a little glasswork, though her neice took to it far better than she did.

With everyone finally up, our heroine made her way to the kitchen, as she let the family scramble for bathroom cue and morning routine. With a rig so large they were well and truly able to have a veritable farm set on the upper level of their rig, her grandparents called it a greenhouse. Which made no sense. It wasn't green and houses were all in ruins. They merely laughed at her when she pointed it out, saying it was the house of plants, and plants were what made it green. She held some doubts but didn't argue. After all it was grandma Milthruel that taught her about cooking and making tasty things like bread and noodles.

As they say, a shlorkel doesn't steal the fingers off a hand that feeds. Not that she ever wanted to go near the dog sized arachnids, even if they were why she had a cozy blanket. Supposedly it was the effect of radiation on sheep and spiders that caused a rather sharp hooved creature with four eyes and a propensity to grow wool and shoot silk to be born. They were creepy to her. It didn't help that they chewed on her hair as a child. They mostly ate grass and veggies and, for their rig, waste vegetables, but they also ate bugs as and when they got a chance. So they often strayed up and down the ramps between their pen and the compost heap.

Their rig was a large one, as evidenced that 16 people we're needed to run it comfortably day in and day out, though 6 could do it alone if they had to, as proven by her parents, who also, she would complain, sprouted her younger brother and sister Samuel and Annyal.

"Melli! Are you making toast? I want some too!" Annyal shouted from the hallway. Melli, short for Amelli, rolled her eyes as she made herself some breakfast.

"Make it yourself it's not hard to fry some up in the pan. Or you can ask auntie to do it!" She yelled back. She barely heard a groan of annoyance from the hall. Her sister was rather impatient when it came to breakfast. But while they were busy trying to get the twins to hurry up, Melli made egg in toast, and put it on the plates her Grandpa had made for his grandma. Made of clay with little bits of colored stone to give it a pattern, it was some of the nicest gifts her grandmother had ever received since 'the event' and she had fallen for him as his charm grew on her.

Taking several plates balanced on either arm with an egg on toast in her mouth, she made her way down the ramp, stifling a shiver as she weaved around the shlorkel herd that were on their way to their pen near the front of the rig. The clickety clatter of their feet beat a staccato rhythm as they moved forward towards their breakfast.

Her mother, father, and both grandparents worked at night and during the morning to make sure they got where they wanted or needed to be, giving them more time to scavenge at these new areas. Grandpa was a wizard with clay and making paints and dyes, as in often as they were able to get them, but they lasted longer than one would assume for crushed rock and oils. His other hobby was in making alcohol, supposedly it had been a past time of his family before the world dried up. He was over 100 years old. So he grew plots of various things and small trees and he said he fermented them. To her it seemed he just let them rot in a different place. But they could use it for fuel if need be and worked better than a lot of other things. It also made the adults act funny if they drank it. His wife was more about her gardening, together they made the greenhouse an interesting spot. Though she always thought it was interesting. It was up on the fourth floor, and was mostly windows. She always wondered why it never broke when they had to go through the storms. Instead of grandpa Emanuel and grandma Susan, this was typically answered by grandfather Harold. He said it was reinforced glass, and said their we're wires inside. And when she looked closer she noticed it. He also that it was mostly cause they had shutters they could slide over it but the reinforced glass helped them have at least a little time when an unforseen hailstorm hit. His wife was grandma Yanma, she enjoyed her herbs too, but she used hers to keep everyone healthy. Often times she would find three of her grandparents in the garden, looking at plants and talking.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Grandpa Harold though was often near the incinerator working on teaching glassblowing or smelting. But he was a kind, if gruff, old man. And often couldn't help but do whatever he could for his grandchildren. Melli's mom and dad were mostly mechanics, Stephan and Rosemary, and often both had a welder on hand and a spare in the charger, they weren't the greatest at hunts, but were well enough at mechanics to have modified some ancient schematics on bolt throwers into a chargeable version and make their own bolts. There was no fletching, but the heft of the bolts often did enough to scare any creature that wasn't hit. The charged part of it was mostly to rotate a drum that set a new bolt in place, and pulling the cable back automatically, so it fired pretty quick. The bolt throwers did a decent amount of damage, and we're easy to make more ammo for with a single stop at a SteelPile.

At the second floor was where the incinerator was, and here she found grandpa Harold, handing him a plate he smiled as she moved on. Inside the workshop was her mother and father, talking happily as they made replacement parts for some of the older portions of the rig to be put in later. Taking their plates they smiled at their daughter, ruffling her hair her father pushed her back towards the ramp, a clear indication to either head all the way up, or more likely, all the way down. The bottom floor of the rig was a large open warehouse area wilhich had compost from the animals and toilets pushed down here. There were a few bugs that buzzed around, but also many webs that would need to be harvested today. Her grandparents were all working on bagging the more composted of material, as one of them slowly wound the shlorkel silk onto a spool, to be dyed in the future no doubt. Leaving any silk that had caught an insect, and a few to support it as well for the shlorkel.

Waiting until they had finished, she watched them rinse their hands in a sink kept on the lower levels to water the shlorkel if they needed it, or wash hands, like in this case. Once complete, she handed off three more plates and finished her own egg on toast before walking up to the front and sitting down, peering out a hole in the bow. Her grandfather was at the helm, so to speak, by being at the incinerator, and as such, going forward into the workshop, and further still to a small water basin which they kept some fish they had found in the low seas, some sort of catfish they were called, he had access to view where they were headed.

This small pond of fish was also used for growing, and many mosses and giant green leaf plants floated upon the surface of the basin, their clean water was kept in the far back of the fourth floor, going through boilers and being further filtered by silk nets woven to be extremely tight. After the filters we're used they were sometimes emptied into the compost, possibly burned, or turned into rags. Other times the same silk weave was used to make pillows full of wool, or even blankets and comforters and cushions. Thankfully they also had cotton, which was a bit more difficult for them to process, but allowed for a more uniformly fluffy material for padding. And using this, they made a cover for when it hailed, it was a large rolled up silken tarp full of cotton, and it could be pulled out the backside of the rig from a storage hatch swing arm, specially crafted by the forgers and tinkerers of the family, and then the blanket could be pulled out to cover the rig. Some areas though had other tube like sections that opened up and merely draped down a blanket, instead of needing to be pulled over the backside. Sadly the back top of the rig had mostly exhaust stacks, so there was little that could be done other than hoisting up a box of blankets on supports, and rolling the last square into place.

When they ran across hailstorms the family had it down pat, one would shut everything down, lock the brakes, set stabilizer harpoons, and generally batten down the interior, the rest of the family would push on the hatch button from the insides and flop out the various covers, only her father went out to do the exhaust stacks, as a person could be caught in the hail if they weren't fast enough. The top front side had two pipes down the middle which we're relatively fast, the brothers would often run out, grandma would open the hatch from the inside, and they would haul the covers out and roll it down the edge, and then two more for the greenhouse glass, but grandma had usually hit the switch by then to put the metal shielding over it, it slowly moved forward to cover it, usually a delay, and then over the course of a minute it would cover the glass. But that made it simpler, open the hatches, attach the eyelets on the covers to the shutter, and let it go, while her father was halfway through the stacks, the brothers would be done with the top and the greenhouse would cover itself. Everything on the sides was simply open the hatch, and push.

The real time consuming part came afterwards, with having to hand crank all the blankets back into a roll, and checking to make sure there were no cuts, tears, or rips in them, and finally making sure the winches still worked. The rest of the caravan usually we're smaller vehicles, two man crew tops to keep up with the family big rig. They opened a single hatch on top and then put out stakes to hold the covers they had bought taut, to bounce hail away, or catch it, and then use it for melt water. The convoy consisted of five vehicles, many would say it was a mobile settlement. Especially since one of them was roughly the size of the narwhal, but was entirely dedicated to raising their own farm animals. Though the term is used loosely as they kept a school of fish in the entire back half of the second and third floors. Cutting down on the actual capabilities of their craft, even with three people, there was no workshop, at least not on the second floor, it was in the first floor, which was also their warehouse. Much like every other rig.

Their water tank was kept on the front of the third floor, since the fish took up the back two floors. Other rigs however we're all rather unique. Some rigs had a gantry crane that was used regularly, so the warehouse was on the third floor with an openable roof. Much like a garage door it would slide open. There were also some that were considered rather posh families, having larger rigs they used the a fourth and fifth floor as an open air balcony with retractable roof and awning. Though many of those same families were excellent hunters and would harpoon beasts from miles away with ballistae that had installed at the bow in same said balcony.

But all feared the storms, and as such had shutters for even these strange and often recreational use locations. Its said there was a rig ran by many families and had something the old folks called a ballroom or dancing floor. Others denied it saying it was a dojo for training in combat! Others still said it was an arena for captured beasts to be used for sport and training. But none ever actually saw this. So only rumors abound. But all say that this Great Rig was from far north on the highlands, but the highlands often saw greater storms, so fee traveled them outside the old waterways said to have once existed.

Melli gazed out the window, her grandparents often talked of a place called Canada, which was said to be just north of the byways they used. Truth be told, were a map to be pulled out, they would be in what remained of the great lakes. While just off south from them would be a lonely little rig, all it's own, fliudnering towards the greatest SteelPile the highlands had heard of. A place once called.... Pittsburgh. Though some of the older folks said the greatest SteelPile is Detroit. A difference of roughly 200 miles, or a few hours at decent speed.

While Jahwan made his way to one SteelPile, Melli and the Ironwalker clan made their way to Detroit. One much closer to the traveler in question than the other. At his speed... Jahwan was still a few days away, roughly the same amount were the Iron Walker's to go straight there, and that's considering Jahwan only travels for ten hours tops, while the Ironwalkers are ever on the move unless the convoy calls for a halt. Melli hugged her knees as she wondered what the world held for her.

Meanwhile... Jahwan questioned how he was going to fix the axle powered by the incinerator. A small crack may be nothing, but a crack it was, and a fix it did need.