“Like Seattle,” Gwynn thought, “before Starbucks.”
Tradition dictated that heroes charge through portals as they appeared, slay whatever monsters presented themselves, and so forth. But Gwynn had recently bathed and hated ducking under branches while riding.
He fetched a heroic sigh.
His grey eyes scanned the horizon in all directions. He was alone on the dusty plain. Gwynn pulled Clyde’s head around toward camp—and coffee.
Another hero would be along shortly.