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Andrew was holding his donkey back now, trying to keep it from snatching the berry outright. His tone was laced with skepticism. "Ah... can't bring mahself t' believe that, wholeheartedly. Though ah-- <span class="mu-i">away,</span> Buckwheat-- ah can't deny th' impact it's havin' on my partner here, ah never needed one 'f those berries t' befriend him..."
One final shove (paired with an apology under Andrew's breath) got the donkey away from your nutberry. "I'll take it, but... on the condition that yer loaded friend here still pays up." He glanced towards Steele (who was beginning to grow nervous). "Half the previous amount... but I ain't lettin' two strangers camp with me for any less than twenty-five dollars."
You and Steele simultaneously skipped a heartbeat at the amount. Andrew continued, his attention shifting directly to you. "Skinny twig guy. You can get on the donkey. Your sheep'll run by you. I'm sure she can keep up." He held out a hand for you to dump the nutberry in, which you did.
Soon after you did exactly as the man asked, unsure of whether he meant you should get on <span class="mu-i">now</span> or later and unwilling to ask for clarificatoin, situating yourself comfortably behind the donkey's neck as Steele doled out a decent chunk of dosh to the trigger-happy stranger.
The donkey felt like a massive bundle of muscles, even moreso than his mundane brethren. Its skin felt coarse and rugged, almost like the earth it walked upon, and its strange matted mane was riddled with specks of dirt. You were surprised at how it handled carrying you-- it was like it barely felt your weight.
Steele soon joined you, much to your surprise, situating himself behind you and <span class="mu-i">definitely</span> making the donkey notice that something was on its back. Indiana soon scrambled atop, grabbing Steele's waist with his claws and making the mustachioed man wince a little, prompting a chuckle out of you and a squeak from Florian.
Without further ado... the three of you set off.
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"So, where're you goin'?"
Andrew had only asked a solid half-hour into the trip.
Before then, he was preoccupied: counting money, eyeing and poking at the nutberry, readjusting his saddle, shouting commands to his horse ("old girl" seemed to crop up a lot, maybe that was her name?) and the donkey, loading the body of the now-sleeping bug onto your lap...
Right, he'd asked a question. "Oh, um, we're headin' to Sacramento. That's... not far, 's far as i'm 'ware..."
You got back to trying to study the bug's carapace. The chitin was unlike anything you'd ever seen. Knocking on it felt like knocking on stone, the bug clearly unaffected by even the hardest smack you could muster, your knuckles hurting more than the bug clearly was. The rings down its spine were lightly indented, prompting their center to protrude almost like a skin tag or pimple of sorts, possible serving some further purpose that you couldn't discern...