The captain's hand fell like a guillotine.
"You, over there..."
Dylan felt his stomach tighten, but his face remained smooth, almost empty, like that of a poor fool shocked to be accused of anything.
"Me, boss?" he rasped, letting a hint of confusion linger in his voice.
The officer stepped closer, his armor creaking with each step. Up close, Dylan saw the sweat beading on his temples and the slight tremor in his fingers. This makeshift captain of the escort was no more confident than his men.
"Yeah, you. You keep checking the wheel. You look around like a ferret. And you stay quiet. Way too quiet, if you ask me. What exactly are you good for?"
Dylan shrugged slowly, letting the silence hang. Then, in a low voice, he replied:
"Nothing more than keeping this cart from busting its ass in the mud. If you wanna push it yourself, be my guest."
