The gang scrubs up nice under the noonday sun, its power mostly obscured by the city’s rising buildings.
Shyan’s hair is combed and all the dirt’s gone from under her nails. Cang’s bald head is shiny and smooth. Abia’s dreadlocks gleam with fresh beeswax, and Fassn’s beard has actual shape — it no longer looks like he’s wearing a tumbleweed upon his chin.
“I love this stone,” Fassn says, stamping his foot appreciatively.
“We’ll we’ve half a day before the buy,” Shyan says. “I’m awfully hungry.”
“Thinking of turning over another share of our haul for a hot meal?” Cang asks with a sneer.
Just then, the glowing sphere zooms away, coming to a bobbing rest over an apple cart, whose owner is engaged in the other direction.
Logan Bright — Works 