The grasshopper sets his jaw. “This is a dangerous place,” he says. “I’d feel far mo’ comfortable if y’all could just stay on the wagon.”
Shyan’s echoing voice rings out across the broken landscape. “Stop!”
The grasshopper’s beast of burden comes to an abrupt halt, despite its master’s protestations.
“Thank you,” Shyan says to the beast. She hops out and works at unloading the crates.
“Shyan, we’re getting out right here?” Fassn asks. He gets no more reply than a determined grunt as Shyan works.
“Well we’s nearly at my home,” the grasshopper sputters. “If y’all change yer minds, take a right at the reeds over yonder, go for six half-kims, and you’ll find my hidey-hole.”
Cang, Fassn, and Abianarin reluctantly remove themselves from the wagon. As it pulls away, it leaves a cloud of dust over the remaining crates, and the travelers themselves.
With an air of deep, slow regret, Fassn says, “Old Ajralan, may you have your fill.”