Here's a quick piece that the awesome people in the fiction workshop helped me polish up. Thanks to 
, @GMuxx, for always being around for guidance and support. 
spent a lot of time with me with this story and helped it to move at the intended pace. Enjoy.
"It's like jumping."
Arte didn’t respond.
"You love jumping. I saw you that night." Annabelle smiled.
"I don’t understand.”
"Listen, you jump up into it, and you land on your feet. Then it's over."
"This is not helping."
"Just jump into it."
Arte sighed and reclined onto the grass. "They won’t like me. I can't do this."
Annabelle smoothed out her dress over crossed legs. "If they don't like you, it's their loss."
"Not true."
"That's how people think, Arte. It’s how we all go along and get along. You can't put this kind of pressure on yourself."
"No, they don't."
"OK. I'm done. I have to go."
"You can't be seen with me."
"Arte, I'll see you in a couple of days. Same time, OK?"
He didn't say anything. She stood and brushed herself off. "Jump in!" She giggled at him as she made her way back across the meadow towards the house and barn.
Arte stared at the clouds rolling by. "Everyone is going to die, again."
The carriage arrived at dusk as Annabelle had scheduled. The wind picked up as Arte ducked inside and pulled the door shut.
Stinging wind and snow blowing through the window awakened Arte. The carriage wasn't moving and the door flung open. He gripped the sides of his arms as the cold rushed in. The driver clapped a gloved hand on Arte's shoulder. "This is it. Out with you, now."
Arte hurried through the cold night to an illuminated tavern. He stopped under the awning. It's like jumping. You jump and you land. He pushed through the heavy wooden door.
Men in wool and leather littered the wooden tables. Women with exposed cleavage carried mugs and were pulled into men's laps. The eyes and mouths glittered wetly. No one seemed to notice Arte. Just jump in.
Arte spotted a clearing in the middle of the room. He steadied himself with each step. He waited for a lull in the banter then dropped his coat to the floor, revealing his purple blouse stitched with stars. The metal buttons clanked against the wood. A few heads turned in his direction.
"Good denizens!"
The crowd went quiet except for a few drunken voices.
Arte tried again, louder. "Good! Denizens!" The voices stopped.
"I am--" he blanked. He swallowed. "Arte!" He paused. There was a slight murmur. "I am a world traveler!" His arms lifted wide, but the heavy wooden door flung itself open as the cold blasted through the entryway.
A barmaid rushed over to close and latch it. "No more world travelers coming in here tonight!"
There were some guffaws. Arte's mouth turned dry. A shadow, waist-high and indistinct, moved behind the counter. Arte took a breath.
"Denizens, listen! I am a world traveler! And I have traveled here!" He smiled, eyes wide. He noticed a few tired looks.
"I travel! Here! And--" Arte dashed a couple of steps to another uncrowded area. He half-stumbled as his foot kicked an empty mug across the floor. "There! Ah Ha! You see, I travel--" He jogged to another opening and bumped into a woman’s chair. The wood groaned against the floor.
"Hey!"
Arte whispered a quick apology. "I travel. Everywhere!"
"SHUT THE BLEEDING HELL UP YOU PUFF!"
Arte froze. The shadow moved into a darker corner. Cold sweat ran down his face. He closed his eyes. If they don't like you, it's their loss. Land on your feet. His heart raced. He struggled to breathe. I need air. He rushed to the entrance and unbolted the door.
"Get away from the door, blaggard!"
Arte swung it open and left. The door slammed shut. He put his hands on his knees, doubled over and sucked in the cold night air.
A voice inside sounded. "I guess he's got the world to travel!" Laughter roared. He clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and continued to heave. Something moved near the tree line. He raised his head. A tail flicked and disappeared behind a trunk. Land on your feet. Land on your feet, Arte! Annabelle. Annabelle. Annabelle.
Snow crunched behind him. Arte spun on his heels. A shadow moved alongside the tavern. The glow of embers bloomed.
"No!" Arte shrieked.
A figure moved forward with palms exposed and a cigar clenched between thumb and finger. "Whoa, no need for that, son. Juss' wanted to talk to ya."
Arte relaxed when he saw a man in a long leather coat and brimmed hat. "Oh," he could see his breath as he panted.
"Name's Quaide, saw what you did back there."
"I'm Arte."
The man chuckled, "yeh, got that."
"Are you going to mock me?"
The man put his cigar to his lips and puffed. He sauntered over. He was tall with dark hair and a strong chin. He moved in close to Arte. "Those people think you're crazy. But I know what you are."
Arte held his breath.
The man tapped a finger against Arte's chest. "You're a performer." The man reached into his jacket and revealed a deck of cards. "So am I." He laughed.
"You are?"
"Travellin' kind, too. Like you."
"You travel, alone, like me?"
"Well, we got a few of us. Our lil' troupe. Small caravan."
"Caravan?"
"More like a single carriage," he chuckled and stopped short. "It's cold out here, so I don't wanna waste your time. Juss’ gonna ask you straight if you wanna join us."
"Join, you?"
Quaide raised his hands in surrender, "Hey, don't make any big decisions right now. Come meet the fellas and see how ya fit in."
Arte felt his face loosen, almost into a smile.
Quaide walked ahead of Arte. The forest was dark with slashes of moonlight between the trees. The burning cigar made Quaide easier to follow.
"It's late and cold, so most of the boys are probably passed out by now, but we'll see if anyone is still up. They're night owls, like me, so don't think you're intrudin'."
Arte rubbed the outsides of his arms. If they don't like you, it's their loss.
"Here it is."
Arte looked up and saw the carriage that had brought him to the tavern. The old coachman wasn't in it. He saw stars as pain erupted on the back of his head. He collapsed into the snow.
"Sorry, Mr. Arte." Quaide's boot was inches from the young man's face.
A large hand reached underneath Arte from behind and yanked his purse from his jacket.
"No. That's mine!"
Quaide's gravelly voice boomed back. "Was."
Arte started to rise.
"Christ, Lowell, hit him more than a kiss this time, would ya."
A sweeping blow to the chin put Arte flat to the ground. "Give it back! Annabelle gave it to me!"
Lowell was a larger, wider man with stubble coating his head. He advanced, swinging a small blunt instrument enough to keep Arte off his feet.
"Annabelle's gonna have to do without." Quaide's voice sounded further away.
The blood and tears were beginning to freeze upon Arte's face. Lowell straddled the young man and reached high for a finishing blow. Something moved in Arte's peripheral vision, and he saw a familiar set of volcanic eyes rushing forward. Teeth and a gaping maw glimmered, followed by sudden darkness.
Annabelle sat knitting by the hearth. A coyote howled. She looked out the window. I told him a couple of days, didn't I? Worried hands resumed. A distant thud sounded outside near the barn. She startled, hurried to the door, and pulled it open. It was quiet out. She traipsed through tall grass and pushed the big wooden doors open. Nothing but the usual bales of hay. She sighed and looked out over the meadow. "Arte, where did you go? You're worrying me."
She heard a clawing noise above. Her eyes climbed up the barn to the roof. A massive ball of bristling fur looked back down at her. It leapt and landed at her feet. Seven feet tall, pointy ears, red eyes, and a snout matted with blood. It dropped two mangled corpses on the grass before her. The beast sat back on its haunches and wagged its tail. A long red tongue protruded as it panted.
"More gifts? Arte?"
The panting stopped and the eyes turned vulnerable.
"Put em' in the barn. We'll bury em’ in the morning."
Arte carried the bodies off.
Annabelle crossed her arms and surveyed the clouds sailing by. In the morning, in the meadow, with all the others.