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"Ready, my beauties?" Sandu whispered to his horses. He had a reputation to uphold. In Brăila, they said a local cart could outrun a thunderstorm if the driver was bold enough.
The sun was just beginning to bake the dusty plains of the Bărăgan as Sandu tightened the leather straps on his two horses. In the town of Brăila, the Danube was calling. The docks were buzzing with merchants from across Europe, all hungry for the golden wheat and rich honey of the Romanian countryside.
Sandu didn’t have a massive wagon or a steam engine. He had a căruță brăileană —a light, sturdy cart built for speed and endurance. It was painted with bright red flourishes, its wheels reinforced to handle the deep ruts of the riverbank roads.
Sandu only laughed, tipped his cap, and gave the reins a gentle shake. He wasn't just delivering goods; he was carrying the spirit of the port city—a place where the East met the West, and where life moved as fast as the river current.
"I didn't expect the honey for another two days!" the merchant exclaimed.
Sandu patted the side of his dusty red cart and winked. "You forgot, sir. This is a cart from Brăila. We don't know how to arrive late."
As he began his journey, the rhythmic clack-clack of the wooden wheels became a song. Along the way, he passed heavy, slow-moving oxcarts. The drivers waved their hats, shouting, "Slow down, Sandu! You’ll set the road on fire!"