Both Shyan and Fassn are sprawled on the floor, their eyes rheumy. Half-heartedly, Shyan waves Old Mossy away. “No need,” she says. “We’re good like this, aren’t we Fassn?”
“Old Ajralan,” he replies. His face and beard are soaked with sweat.
“Yes, very well put, Fassn,” Cang sneers. “Old Ajralan, verily!”
“I’m just gonna get some sleep,” Shyan says, making great efforts to roll onto her side.
“Nonsense. I traded a precious gem for your worthless lives, so this grey creature shall restore them, after which, they shall belong to me.”
Abia levels a stare at Cang until a tiny smirk appears on his lips. “What do you need?” she asks Old Mossy.