The Race Awaits

Eris held her hand flat above her eyes, shielding against the blistering, noonday sun. The gesture did nothing for the heat. Raising her other hand, she fanned herself with folded paper, trying to stir the limp air. She never enjoyed her annual visits to the flats.

Intellectually, she appreciated why they selected the flats for the race. The terrain stretched barren to the horizon. Nary a bush would trip the race’s progress. The place was ideal for racing. Not ideal for spectators.

“Lemonade, Fair One,” a deep baritone asked, interrupting her appraisal. Eris turned, finding the gentleman Mainsden next to her. He proffered her a glass beaded with condensation. The beverage within would be nearly as cloying as his smile.

Pushing her lips into a less enthusiastic smile, she accepted the drink. Eris could use the bite of coolness. She sipped and turned back toward where the racers assembled.

“Is this your first year here? Mainsden asked, stepping closer to her. Eris felt the heat rolling from him.

“Mmm, no.” She fanned herself again.

“I find I’m quite excited for this year’s racers,” Raising a decorative cane, he pointed toward one racer, a wagon with a chonky engine fixed to its back. “That mine. A sure win as well.”

“Mmm.” she replied, noncommittedly. Mainsden couldn’t take a hint of her disinterest and what she said hadn’t mattered. She supposed he wished to while away the time. She regretted him using her.

An agonizing stretch later, the whistle blew, and the wagons rolled into motion. Mainsden’s wagon belched steam and clunked into motion. Its movements match the contraption on its back.

“Would you,” he said, not bothering to finish the sentence. He pointed toward another wagon, one which ran on well-oiled wheels. “What is that beast? It is.” He didn’t bother finishing again.

Offering a genuine smile, Eris’s eyes narrowed with excitement watching the wagons’ progression. That beast belonged to her. She hadn’t lost a race in a handful of years. This year wouldn’t change her record.