“Oh, but friend, we’ve yet to negotiate the particulars,” Cang says. He strides toward the bird in a jocular manner and wraps the thing’s leg with his arm as one would an old, familiar friend.
It murmurs. “Gimme ’em.”
“No way,” Shyan says. “We’ll gladly sell them, sure.”
“Yeah no one gets the good shit for free,” Fassn says, gesturing at his wings. As an afterthought he adds, looking up, “Except for Old Ajralan, of course, may he have his fill.”
The bird grumbles, lumbers towards them. “I got lotsa moneys,” it says.
Shyan steps in front of the crates, sword and shield bared. “This is valuable stuff, mister. Abia, tell him.”
“Strong magic,” she says.
It approaches within a breath of Shyan. “Gimme a sample, then,” it says.