“These foul grey creatures have ruined our livelihood,” Cang says. Shyan is up, now, carving a chunk of wood into the likeness of a humanoid. The gang sits by a low fire, reflecting and planning.
“All for some revenge,” Fassn says. He shakes his head sadly. “Not what Old Ajralan would want.”
“It’s my fault,” Shyan says flatly. “They were after me.”
“But they did not get you,” Cang says, the hint of a wry smile playing on his lips. “You fought like a maelstrom and won. Now I believe the time has come to earn our leisure,” he adds.
He thinks back to the handful of gems Old Mossy showed them. He imagines slipping them one by one into his many pockets, and his grin grows wide.
Logan Bright — Works 