The padder suddenly lifted its tail and gave a loud flatulent burst, followed by a satisfied grumble. Sandon screwed up his face and waved his hand in front of his nose. The animals really were unpleasant creatures, but at least it was better than having to walk, marginally better. He felt like he'd lost all of the feeling in his rear end over the past couple of days, and he wondered whether he'd ever walk properly again. As if to emphasize the thought, the padder stumbled, slamming its bony back into Sandon's rear for what seemed like the hundredth time. He gritted his teeth and growled deep in his throat. Cursed animals. Cursed Storm Season. That they were always reduced to this just wasn't right. He was reminded of the skeleton hulk they'd seen on the way here. The Prophet had played a cruel joke, stripping them of so much of their knowledge and technology on the way down to what had promised to be a potential paradise. Vast tracts of knowledge had been lost with the transport ships that hadn't made it. One of these days, the Guild of Technologists might finally come up with a real solution to the transport problems they faced in the midst of Storm Season, and for Sandon, that time just couldn't come soon enough.
Avoiding Bortruz had brought with it a new set of problems. He should have made the connection as soon as Manais had mentioned it. Ahead of him lay the Bodrum River, its vast flow growing as it made its way across the plains down from the Yarik escarpment, fed by various tributaries and streams along its length. Bortruz itself used the river to good advantage, for in the depths of Storm Season, when travel of all forms proved more hazardous, the waterway provided another means of carrying produce across the face of the land. Long, flat ore boats plied its way, heading downstream to Darthan and other industrial centers, to return later bearing goods and supplies from the manufacturing complexes further downriver.
A network of man-made canals crossed Bortruz, allowing easy access for the transportation wagons. Across these canals, and across the Bodrum River itself were flexible bridges, built to withstand the land's instability, but easily reconstructed should they be damaged. Ahead of him, the river provided no such crossing, and with its body swollen by storm water, there was no way Sandon would be able to cross. If there were any ford ahead of him, it would be unusable now. He sighed and turned the padder around, heading it back in the direction of Bortruz.
Another couple of hours and the ramshackle collection of buildings that was the town of Bortruz grew ahead of him. He set his lips in a thin line. There was nothing else for it. He'd have to brazen his way through. He flexed his shoulders, feeling the stiffness of his arms and back, the reward for having spent most of the day astride the cursed animal beneath him. At least he'd have an excuse to get on his own feet again.
As he drew closer to the township, the path grew worse, not better. Deep ruts marred the surface, and with the consistent downpours, these had turned to mud. At least it wasn't raining. Sandon cast a glance upward, but the cloud cover looked unthreatening, and he looked back to concentrate on the path ahead. He tried as well as he could to steer the padder around the deeper pools and muddiest looking ground. He'd hate to come off the beast and land in that mess. Garbed as he was, he was enough of a sight, without being covered in mud as well. He didn't need to be taken for one of those wandering madmen that the Atavist community sometimes produced. Despite his best efforts, the cantankerous animal insisted on choosing its own path, and it sloshed through puddles, or squelched through muddy tracks regardless. Eventually he just gave up and let the beast have its head.
