It’s getting late. The booth run is still frisky and friendly, but will they bring it somewhere before it gets dark?
Clip-clop. Clip-clop. For a while now, one can see no houses or trodden paths. It would be nice now to find an old hut, a cave, or at least a hollow in a tree... Only broken branches are cracking under the hooves, and little pebbles are being scattered.
They ran across another hill and here, at a distance, at the very edge of the cliff above the sea, a structure appeared, a stone island with winds blowing in every direction. Apparently, it never had any walls, but the roof seems to be strong. It will be cool, but at least it will be dry.
Gooma gathered everything he had, jumped off while the hospitable booths were still moving, looked back at them and headed to his night shelter. He heard the crunching sound of last year’s dried grass under his feet.