“Who be these who visit my home?” the woman asks, struggling to her feet. Her long, thin bones strain against pallid skin.
Cang elbows Fassn. “Surely you intend to ask about Old Ajralan, no?”
Fassn gulps. Cang sprints away, back to the treeline. Fassn feels for the stones in his pockets and finds them empty. He curses Cang’s rapidly retreating form.
The woman lopes toward the group. Her pyre’s intensity grows as she nears them.