On the path to the market there was no need for alarm clocks: the drays, ever punctual, were an army storming the gates of sleep. The wooden wagons were heavy and low riding with loud rattling wheels, their broad planks too battered and begrimed to recall distant origins as trees. Horses--two, four, or sometimes six per wagon--pounding down nearby Third Street, pulled each dray. Windows rattled and floors shook; the sound was a giant hand shaking Piper?s sleeping shoulders. Each morning she did not awaken to the sound, but inside it. The sound of the drays came no matter what the season. In winter it came when the sky was still dark, the pounding hooves sharp reports against the frozen cobblestones. In summer, perhaps because the sky was already pale with light, the sound of the horses seemed kinder.

She knew the clattering wagons were bound for the market proper, but the vague tangle of streets that lay across the bridge surfaced in her mind with the sound of the horses and resubmerged with its diminishment. As the flow of drays subsided--the wagons no longer traveling two across but single file--pounding hooves gave way to the creak of floorboards and the muffled voices of neighbors. Factory whistles blew. Church bells rang. The vegetable man made his way down the street shouting, "Fresh tomatoes," even if there were no tomatoes, because those words distinguished him from the other vegetable men who plied their carts through Rhydin.

As Piper stirred and noted she still had the headache she'd gone to bed with, Liza put up milk for coffee and pancakes. By the time Piper had dressed, Cooper and Liza had finished their morning ablutions and the washbasin was hers alone. By the time she had brushed and pinned her hair, the drays were gone. Indeterminate Rhydin had once again been vanquished by the certainty of the market and she herself had settled at the table before a platter of apple pancakes as the two partners in crime announced their intentions to spend the day frolicking at the beach and promptly left with a bang of the door slamming shut, leaving Piper to pour over the racing forums.

Wincing at the sharp bang, she started in on the meal before it was just as quickly abandoned, having nearly choked. Poor little Nimble had performed disastrously the day before. Turning for the door herself, she snatched the straw hat from the peg near the door, pushed it down soundly atop her head and headed to the Sands to gather her newest Pegasus; Smut. She?d have to give some serious consideration to changing that name.

Be that as it may, once Smut was in hand, she was being lead down the path straight to the Falcon?s stable to join Nimble. Even a female Pegasus needed some companionship at times to cheer her up! "Kina!? I have brought trouble." Calling out with a grin when she arrived at the stables and turned to admire the black beauty known as Smut. What a name! "Don't you go getting me in trouble now, you here?"