Juna heard fifteen hounds slithering through the reeds while the clinic carts rattled closer behind her.
Sixty yards of gravel still separated the nearest snout from the wheels, and the oxen were snorting at the stink. Hajin reached the lower orchard and covered its exposed turn, leaving her the frontage she swore she could hold alone.
Juna jabbed a claw toward the hedge on her left, ears flat against the reek of wet fur, "Drivers, hug that line!"
"Walking pace, wheels together, and nobody stops to gawk at whatever crawls out!"
The lead driver lifted his reins just as something scraped inside the culvert beneath the road.
"They're in the pipe, Lady Juna," he yelped, "two hurt children and three elders back here, and I can't turn this cart once they're around the wheels!"
She stepped into the middle of the lane before his team could drift to the right.
"Then don't turn it."
