Strong Rawhide Shoulders

Strong Rawhide Shoulders sit heavy on the collarbone, a pair of rugged leather pauldrons that carry the stubborn scent of smoke and oil, their surface weathered to a dull burnished brown. The grain is tight and etched with fine scratches from years of use; studs of brass along the edge catch the lamplight, and the straps are threaded with waxed sinew that resists fray. There are faint seams where the leather has been re-tanned by hand, and a small patch of scarred hide where a spear once clipped mid-stride. Lore says these shoulders were first woven into the gear of caravan guards who watched over ore wagons crossing the plains; the rough texture carried the memory of thrashing rain and sun-baked dust. In practical terms, they give sturdy protection without crippling mobility, letting a hunter keep one hand free for a bow or a sling while the other bears the weight of a shield when the road grows loud. As I pulled them from the stall, the leather whispered of crossroads and choices, of nights spent guarding caravans against wolves and raiders, of the moment when a quiet touch on the straps meant the difference between escape and capture. In the world of gear, those shoulders become a signal as much as a shield, pairing with weathered leather tunics and rough-spun jerkin to tell a story of journeys endured. Market whispers travel fast in the markets, and here the Saddlebag Exchange is a kind of heartbeat for old gear—they judge by the grain, the stitching, and the promise left in a pair of shoulders. If the leather is still supple and the brass tempered with rain, they’ll offer a fair coin, sometimes a trade-in for scraps that tell their own stories, sometimes a neat bundle of coin and a map to a hidden skiff. I never trusted a bargain that didn’t leave a memory behind, and these shoulders carry theirs in the grain where the sun found a line and pressed it into a lifetime of miles. So they don’t just sit on a rack; they travel in pairs with the wearer, turning a simple outfit into a map of routes taken and dangers faced. That is why I kept them tucked away until a hunter's day came, when the road would test a pair of shoulders as much as a blade would test a heart. And in the market at Saddlebag Exchange, a buyer in dusty gloves offered a coin that glinted with the promise of the next trade caravan, a reminder that even a simple hide can travel farther than a rider. Strong Rawhide Shoulders thus become more than equipment; they are a passport stamped with a memory of trails, a companion on the road, and, if you listen closely, a whisper of the world’s turning. So I carry them again, not as a prize but as a promise: that every mile will be guarded by something that speaks softly of the road’s weathered patience. A traveler listens.