The trade caravan wound its way through the forests of Chataya. The wagon train rumbled down the twisting roads toward the capital city.
Migar Rhe sat on her wagon the middle of the train, urging the beasts of burden to keep pace with the rest of the caravan. The woman cursed her current choice of assignment, as well as the person who sent her on it.
Worst of all, she considered, was the fact she was doing it for free. Granted, she owed her friend a favor, but the risk was far greater than she would have liked. Migar cursed again.
“Cursing people out is rude, you know,” a voice said from the back of the wagon.
Migar jumped as she turned around.
“Damn it, Mida, so is scaring the daylights out of the person smuggling you.”
“Please, you make a terrible savior.” The owner of the voice stuck her head out of the back of the wagon. “Ugh, still daylight?”
“It is, actually,” The brown haired Vir said.
“Ah.” The pale woman looked ahead. “Why are we stopping?”
“Oh no,” the short being said, “West-men…”