The fourth wagon's axle shrieked as two teamsters wrenched its damaged linchpin clear, swearing at the iron together.
Hajin stopped behind the tailgate, where the replacement pin waited on a folded cloth beside a greasy wrench.
"Clear the tongue!" the driver barked, snagging a trace before it tangled under the horse, "if this animal backs up again, I need that space!"
Juna and Vella stood nose to nose across that exact tongue, and neither of them moved an inch for him.
'Oh, perfect, the one spot the poor bastard needs, and my girls picked it for a duel.'
"Explain the flower field," Juna demanded, feet planted squarely in the driver's working space, "what did you mean when you said he held you there?"
"I meant that he held me," Vella purred, tugging her cloak clear of the grease, "and I'm rather pleased the words work just as well outside the ring."
The second teamster ducked under the tongue, and Juna stepped forward right into him, pinning his shoulder against the wood.
