Traveling, part 2

Some more idle writing to try out some scenes and ideas.

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You watch the train trundling away, one arm clutching your book to your chest, the other gripping your suitcase. The day has heated up, and you’re sweating a little. You wipe your forehead, but it doesn’t help much - except to let you catch a whiff of your underarms. Damn. You smell. You could do with a cold shower, or a swim. Had the website mentioned a pool? You can only hope. Now, the email said to expect someone here to meet you…

“Flax?”

You turn to see an otter standing behind you in, dressed in a formal outfit and squinting down at a piece of paper. He’s got an adorable hat on that makes him look a little like a porter. Actually, he’s adorable all over - especially when he looks back up, meets your eyes, and flashes you a stunning smile. You blush, suddenly awkward. No matter what Linton says, it’s never as easy for you as it is for him. It only takes one handsome guy to smile at you, and your tongue stops working. You wrangle it back into action.

• Blurp!
• Oh, uh…hi.
• Nice to meet you.

The otter smiles, and you swear he stands up a little straighter. “My name’s Petran. I work at Paardenrust.” He holds out a paw, and you reach for it instinctively in an awkward handshake that you instantly break off when you realise that wasn’t his intent. Your blush intensifies, and your tongue curls into a knot. His hand was lovely and warm. And soft.

Petran simply chuckles. “Can I…take your bag?”

“Right! Yes.” You let the otter take it from you, still blushing. “Um. Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” The otter lifts the suitcase easily, and you realise his uniform was successfully obscuring some impressive strength. “You’d be amazed how many guests never shake hands with the staff.”

• How rude.
• I bet they’d change their mind if they knew how soft you were.

It’s the otter’s turn to blush, and he quickly turns. “This way, Flax.”

He leads you to a thing of beauty: an actual carriage, made of wood and cast iron and velvet, with a single huge gryphon pulling it. You actually gasp when you see the creature, and - as if it heard you - it looks over with enormous yellow eyes, regarding you as it must regard its prey.

“That’s Bellerophon,” the otter says, grunting as he hoists your suitcase atop the carriage. “You can pet him. He only looks scary.”