Abia’s ears do not deceive. Soon the gang hears the padding of small feet, the creaks of branches gripped by hands. The creatures, alerted to the theft, are on their way. Shyan springs up and puts out their low fire.
“We know not the next town’s location,” Cang grumbles.
The glowing sphere bobbing around him perks up and starts to turn circles around his head. He swats at it irritably, but it deftly dodges. It pulls away toward the woods just as scowling grey creatures emerge behind the gang, growling about jewels.
Logan Bright — Works 