Running low on supplies, Marcus collected Bret and Wayne and dragged them to the train station. When it arrived, he ushered the farmhands onto the steam-powered locomotive and dropped into the first seat he found. Throughout the trip, the pair talked about the recent dangers. The occasional tidbit floated into Marcus’s mind, and he slumped over the back of the chair and dismissed their worries, professing that the Southern Region didn’t have any problems aside from not catching enough fish. Will the danger the farmhands are talking about envelope the Southern Region? Or will Marcus’s confidence in their safety be proven correct?
Marcus hopped off the train and started stretching his limbs. With a sigh, he took a deep breath of fresh salty air and sighed. “If it weren’t for dangerous predators, I’d enjoy life here.”
“Unless you’re attempting to disembark,” Wayne quipped. He jostled Marcus’s shoulder, adding, “Marcus, are you planning on pitching a tent?”
With a hearty laugh, Marcus stepped away from the train’s door. “Come and join me.” He waved at his men and started walking towards the bay. “We have plenty of supplies to pick up from the fishmongers.”
With a wry chuckle, Bret pushed Wayne’s back, knocking him to the ground. “You heard the man, let’s go help the boss.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Wayne grumbled as he steadied himself. “After you.”
Marcus whirled around while he continued heading for the harbor. “Stop goofing off and catch up. There’s far too much to accomplish…”
“Yet never enough time to complete it all,” Bret finished.
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