Windmills and Dreams

Image by Boke9a from Pixabay

“You’re thinking about Don Quixote again, aren’t you?”  Skiff sat down next to Nell, stretching his legs out under the bright, summer sun.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a fantasy land? No feed to push, no harnesses to fix…”

“No stalls to muck out,” Skiff added.

“Did you see what Herald did to me this morning?” Nell pushed up her sleeve to reveal an angry bite mark slathered over with salve and wrappings.

“I heard about it,” Skiff said, inspecting the bandage.  “How deep?”

Nell shrugged. “Three stitches.”

Skiff laughed. “For Herald? That means he likes you!” He stared at the windmill as Nell covered her arm. “What kind of fantasy land would you live in?”

“Any place would be better than the doldrums that are here. Some place where the transportation doesn’t eat and poop, and then bite us in thanks.”

“Can you imagine it? Maybe some kind of mechanical thing that can whisk us anywhere we want to go. We could be in Stellensgir in a morning.  Or the mainland in a day.”

“A day?” Nell laughed. “That really would be a fantasy land.” She turned back to look at the windmill and her face grew serious. “What would we do for a living in a place like that?”

“Anything. The possibilities are endless.”

“Anything,” Nell whispered, and her eyes grew dreamy.

Skiff stood up, holding his hand out to help her up.  “Come on, we’ve got work to do. Those dragons won’t train themselves.”

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