Chapter 7. A Bad Start.

  “Arieo.” A raspy voice called out.

  Big bold brown eyes gently opened, blinking tiredly. Those sleepy eyes watched as a man tremor in the dirt, a few arms reaches away.

  “Arieo.” The man tried again. It was a harsh voice like he smoked tobacco.

  “Arieo, where are ye?” Correction it was a harsh voice like he smoked all the tobacco.

  Big brown eyes blinked, blinked unevenly at that, but watch while the man feel the ground.

  “Arieo, damn it.” He patted the ground franticly, feeling his immediate surroundings. “Arieo, me eyes, they clouded.”

  That harsh voice started to delve into the notes of panic, and a cold sweat caused another tremor. The man shouted with anxiety. It wasn’t a yell of anger, but more desperation.

  “Arieo, where is ye ya stubborn jackass?”

  This mule. Or jackass. The thing named Arieo. He watched quietly while that man feel the dirt.

  That man was crawling this much closer with a slow pat patting crawl. Those big lovely brown eyes watch while that man’s shaky hand pat closer and closer. He was nearly there now. Nope pat this way. Right there. Pat. Pat you dolt. Its right there just grab it already.

  “Arie-oh-ho ye be such a lucky mule.” That voice threatened under his breath.

  Cold clammy fingers clutched the familiar soft mending’s of leather. A hand stitched bag that had lay next to him maybe an arm reach away.

  “Arieo?” That mans desperate voice called out again.

  Arieo only stare while that man sit on his knees.

  His head swiveled. Face smeared with dread and depletion. Lifting an arm he reached. Arieo was not standing right there though. Nice try.

  A cold hand conducted a new series of shaky empty grabs.

  “Arieo please, I can’t see.” His throat was tight, making it difficult to make words. Quaking hands felt the stitched edges of the small bag. He felt this personal leather bag around, until he fumbled the flap open.

  “Arieo, me founds me bag.” His voice was now just as shaky as those hands. One of which plunged into that leather bag; and shuffled franticly throughout.

  Arieo watched while that desperate man turned that leather bag inside out. Blinking unevenly while that man started to sweep the ground with flat hands feeling for whatever it was that fell from inside.

  “Arieo I swear when I get me senses.” He swallowed hard, and a cold sweat took control. He gripped his stomach, while those chilling beads danced with his quaking body.

  “Arieo!” That harsh voice barked, it wasn’t an angry bark, it was panic. A shaky panic that scrubbed him over thoroughly.

  He hated the mornings that were like this—or nights, he wasn’t really sure.

  Nonetheless though, he hated these kinds of starts. It was a dreaded feeling, a feeling that made death seem rather reasonable for an escape.

  Another tight swallow of dry nothing, thinking if he clenched his jaw any more a tooth might pop. He sniffed hard, pulling back a cold snot releasing a puffed cheek of air.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Must we do this every time Arieo?”

  Those big brown eyes continued to watch, while that man pat around for those things right there.

  A shard no bigger than that of an almond. Right there. There was three of them just at the man’s side. Slightly under the leather bag, all of which was just out of his visions reach.

  He stopped feeling the dirt.

  His head began to pulse and quiver. A deep throbbing ripped from his thought chamber. Holding a blink as tight as possible, his mouth salivated with warm spit. His breathing slowed. He knew what was coming, and coughed a dry heave, arms wrapping himself. He coughed and wretch, gasping for air betwixt each stomach curl.

  “Hee-haw.”

  The sound was beautiful. Like the morning songbird letting all know the new day has arrived.

  It was a teasing glimpse of release from this torment, and time couldn’t move fast enough for his favor.

  The man twisted his neck, pointing his ears this way and that listening for another noise or vibration.

  “Arieo? Arieo ya sweet boy where is ye?” The man reached out, feeling nothing. “Arieo please, me be the one to crawl for ye. Please just says somethins.”

  Arieo blinked his big brown eyes and watched as that man came to a shaky stand. His master was a blind fool. No question about that.

  Arieo blinked with judgment. All while his master stumbled with an open hand. The man walked a slow uneven circle before calling out again.

  “Arieo, ye got a sick sense of humor.”

  The sound of a wagon wheel creaked. Uneven blinks watched while his master turned away—the blind fool—then the man barely lifted those boots. Dragging his feet in the dirt. It was a slow toe-dragging pace. He was really feeling his steps.

  “Arieo? Please.” The man begged, grabbing a handful of empty.

  “Hee-haw.”

  The abrupt bump forced the man to turn quickly on his heel. He could feel the bumping against his left arm. Clutching a tight hug around the strong neck of a work animal. Clammy hands felt the tall ears of a donkey, as the animal returned the warm nuzzle.

  “It be a bad start buddy.” He whispered to Arieo, the donkey.

  He held his ungulate pal, rubbing those tall ears, running those cold clammy fingers through the silky mane. He gave Arieo lots of head pats and nuzzled that long face.

  “Me be out of shards buddy.” There was a hint of shame in his tone.

  Well knowing it was going to be a rough day. He continued to pat the donkey, as he felt his way to the small wagon hitched behind.

  “Perhaps there be a bit of residue on the pestle. Otherwise, ye be the one to lead. Just until me gets me senses back of course.”

  “Hee-haw.” A gentle bray and the donkey waggled its head. A motion that was felt, not seen.

  “Ye sees one, ..where?” His voice tremored again, and he stumbled back. Quickly feeling his way to the face of the donkey.

  “Where Arieo?” he added, holding the animals face with both hands.

  “Where Arieo? Where does ye see it?” There was just a hint of sour madness in his pitch.

  Arieo bobbed his big mahogany colored head. A head bob that intentionally knock his master the ground. A dramatic fall too, an obnoxious fall that tied well with the wild head bobs of Arieo.

  That man was knocked back by that big round mahogany honker. His arms flay about, like a tipsy squirrel in a fermenting apple orchard. A missed step like an uncoordinated child and he fell backwards. Backwards on his bottom where Arieo was pushing him.

  “Oomph.” His master fell flat on his butt and glared in a direction that seemed accurate.

  “Arieo what the hell.” He started but was far too distracted with the item poking his right butt cheek.

  Those big lovely brown eyes watch with head bobs as that man rotate from butt to hands and knees.

  “Hee-haw.” It was a very dramatic and drawn-out bray. Excited with exaggerated head bobs, watching his master.

  Cold hands felt the dirt with long flat sweeps, before grabbing the lovely shards of interesting pigmentation. His hands vibrated, causing those wonderful shards to chatter.

  “That’s a good boy.” Reaching up for Arieo.

  The clever donkey reached its strong neck and long nose down. Allowing the man to grab one of them big tall ears, and helped him to his two wobbly feet.

  His master patted the stout mahogany body, then the little wagon behind. He felt his way around to the back of that little trade wagon, and pulled himself up. He carefully scanned what he imagined was the bed of the wagon, visually remembering his layout. Odd eyes squinting as best they could.

  “Damn these eyes Arieo, can’t see nothings today, just be grey.” His master said from the little wagon.

  His master he slowly searched the bed of the small wagon with careful pat pats. Wanting to make sure he check thoroughly but not wanting to catch a splinter in the rough bed. His fingers had enough splinters so much, so it made the morning drainage worrisome. So with shards clutched in one shaky hand, he gently sweep with the other.

  “Me founds it Arieo, just gives me a moment buddy and then we bes on our way, okay.” His master said with a tremor. It wasn’t a shake of panic anymore, but more so of an eager rashness.