There was a train on the track. James retied his sneakers. Mercedes stood next to him, hands on her hips.

“What. What even.”

The way her nostrils flared out with every irritated snort was something that was more pronounced in this cold weather. It was Mercedes idea that they be a bit more active. Not driving everywhere active, but really active active. It was James’ idea that they run the track to make sure they get the minimum in ever day.

Like most of James’ ideas, somehow it was ruined. Today, it was by a train.

“When did that get there?” Mercedes demanded of the passing penguins.

One of them honked. James squeezed the bridge of his nose. “We could go and run up and down the river instead?”

“And have the wind make fun of me? Last time it called you fat. The wind’s a jerk.”

“The wind doesn’t have sole possession of the riverside.”

As far as Mercedes was concerned, it did. They had to find somewhere else to run though, rather than the track. The train wasn’t theirs to move, after all. That was up to the triceratops who wanted their vote.

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