Part 4 - "THE FORESTS"
As cold and expansive as the Iron Mountains were, the Crags were so much worse.
The stone was brittle, falling off in large chunks whenever any sort of pick was attempted on it. That meant no climbing tools, and Orano already didn’t feel safe climbing even with the tools and harnesses.
“Relax, shortstack,” said Vosala behind him. “You’re the Toa of Air. You can fly.”
“W-w-what made you th-think that-t?!” asked Orano. He felt his grip on a stony spire slip, and he clamped his visual receptors shut. Any moment, and you’re just going to tumble down and it’ll be over. Not that scary. It’s just falling and then…
Vosala gave him a nudge on the shoulder. “Come on, dude. You’re holding up the line.”
Orano took his hand and, inch-by-inch, brought it further from Aero City, further from home, and towards whatever was out there.
“You know, you didn’t need to bring that huge backpack,” said Vosala as he matched Orano’s progression with considerably more ease.
“Yes-s-s, I d-did,” said Orano. With it, he felt prepared. He felt like he had something even if it wouldn’t actually contribute anything, which he didn’t think it would.
They continued like this for the better part of the day. Narale, who seemed to be a natural at climbing, had to wait for the other two to catch up at every occasion. She practically leapt from spire to spire, and seemed to have no fear of the gaping ravines below. And when she waited, she simply watched the other two. She did not nag, she did not complain, she simply watched, albeit with an impatient glare.
By the time they were across, Orano’s joints felt limp with strain. Every servo in his hands could barely move, and when they did, dust from the stony spires hindered them slightly.
“That was the worst!” shouted Vosala as they stepped, finally, onto level ground. “Why has no one built pathways through the Crags?”
“Because our kingdoms were built to be separate,” said Narale. “It’s how we’ve managed all of these years. It’s how we’ve thrived.”
‘Thrived’ is a generous term, thought Orano, but he did not dare say so out loud. Narale, it seemed, still liked him, or at least wasn’t as vocal about her disapproval of him. Either way, Orano preferred it to how she regarded Kidoma, or Vosala.
Before them lay the Rimelands. Orano already felt lost, but this was simply because of how far from home he suddenly realized he was. He had never seen so much snow before, lying not on great and distant mountaintops, but beneath their feet and across the forest, sprawling out before them like… like… like nothing Orano had ever seen before.
It was like the ocean, though he had never honored the majesty of the ocean, and so this was the closest thing to what he could imagine it being - an expanse of glittering pearlescent waves, rising and falling gently among the trees. It would have been beautiful, if not so startling to the poor Toa of Air.
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” asked Narale, eyeing the stout Orano with amusement.
“Um-m-m… Y-yes?” said Orano, closer to a question than confirmation.
“Well, wait until you see the Wastelands,” said Vosala. “They’re like this, except without the trees, or the snow, and your joints don’t frost over every thirty seconds.”
“So, in other words,” said Narale, “they’re nothing like this.”
“Well, they’re much better. They’ve got sand, wonderful, great sand. And clouds of dust. And fire. Wow, why didn’t I go with the other team?”
“Because,” Narale said, her voice bitter and frozen, “Shatterside Summit is much easier to climb when you have a Toa of Fire to melt away any ice that clouds the paths, as ice is frequent to do.”
Vosala grumbled something incoherent, and that was that.
The three trudged through the snow, which was deep enough to reach Orano’s knees. They became engulfed in trees, and, as if by a large beast, they were swallowed by the forest.
Light still shone in through the pines’ needly limbs, allowing the snow to persist in its glimmer, but the star seemed so far, now that the air had gotten so cold. Orano could not sense its warmth.
“Straight to the shutter-stride sum-of-it?” Vosala asked about four steps in.
“Shatterside Summit,” Narale corrected, something she seemed equally annoyed and delighted to do. “And no. We require climbing gear, which we will acquire at the Frostglade, my hometown.”
“Returning home,” a voice said. “What a charming feeling!”
“Don’t mock me,” said Narale, her voice as icy as the one preceding.
“That wasn’t me,” Vosala said. “You would never know if it was, because I mock people behind their backs.”
“I love returning home!” the voice said again. It trickled and cracked, somewhat similar to the sound of Orano stepping upon the snow. “It makes me feel so terribly cold inside, because my home is gone! Beneath four hundred years’ worth of frost! It’s funny, when you think about it, because it’s just so sad!”
Around them, the shadows cast by the trees seemed to lengthen and spread, and the luster of the snow was choked out by the sudden dark.
“Another one?” cried Vosala, drawing his torch handle and igniting its fiery blade. “Please, don’t be made of air! I want to hit something!”
Narale shaped icicle points from her wrists, encasing her hands in her weapons and stood ready.
Orano nervously stood between the two of them.
At first, it appeared that something beneath the snow was rising up, until the Toa realized that the snow itself was forming a shape that climbed to its feet. It was a brutish, ice-toned beast with fangs and claws, its eyes hollow and its jaw agape. As the Dark Wind had been a creature of air, this was a beast of frost.
“The name’s Fritz,” the thing said, its jaw motionless as it spoke. “As in, on-the-fritz, because I’m crazy!”
“Yeah, whatever,” said Vosala. “Can we get this over with?” The Toa of Fire jumped forwards, holding his fire blade high. Before he could reach the beast, Fritz held up an icy arm and shot a beam of snow. The moment it hit Vosala, it froze over and held him fixed to Fritz’s arm. The beast swung the frozen beam to the side, and Vosala was thrown into the trunk of a great tree.
“Orano, behind me!” shouted Toa Narale, who drew up from the ground in front of her a wall of ice to shield the incoming blast from Fritz.
“Come on, let me get you!” said the beast. “It’ll only hurt a lot!” On the other side of the ice, Orano watched as Fritz lunged at the ice wall and, laying his hand on it, absorbed the material. The ice covered him in a suit of jagged armor, allowing him to grow nearly twice as tall.
“Aw, you shouldn’t have!” shouted Fritz with a cackle as he swung a massive claw.
Narale jumped back, before attacking with one of her ice blades. It shattered against the armor of the beast, who laughed as if he had just been tickled.
“The Lady was right about you! You don’t know what you are doing!” Fritz thrust an arm at Narale, sending her back and away.
Orano held up a hand, shut his eyes, and felt the air around him. It was cold, afraid to move, but if he asked politely enough-
Wind began to whip and whirl around him, in a slight burst of energy that echoed in his core. He waved his hand in its current, drawing it faster and faster, before pointing it at its target. The wind shot forwards, and…
Fritz stared at Orano. “Was that supposed to do something? Was - was that little breeze supposed to, I don’t know, cool me down? Lull me into a state of rest? Because it was just that pathetic.”
A ball of fire erupted to the side of Fritz’s face, and shards of ice fell upon Orano. Fritz, with a half-destroyed head of ice, glared at its source, a standing Toa Vosala.
“Do you mind?” the beast growled.
Vosala shrugged. “Not at all.”
Fritz launched a beam, which Vosala ducked underneath. When the beam hit the tree behind him, it was encased in ice. Vosala dove with his fire blade extended, plunging it into Fritz’s ankle. The ice hissed with the sudden heat, and Fritz shrieked as his foot melted into water. With his disfigured leg, he stomped onto Vosala and kicked him away.
“What is a Toa of Fire doing in the Rimelands?” Fritz asked.
“Exactly…” Vosala groaned.
Orano ran to the fallen Toa and placed his hand on his back. “C-c-come on-n, V-Vosala! G-g-get up!”
Behind Fritz, Narale leapt onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. Fritz grunted and reached behind him, plucking Narale off. He held her by the leg between two claws, letting her dangle as he examined her.
“So, the Kanohi chose you stupid things,” said Fritz. “Over us, when we actually needed them. What makes you so special…?” He reached with his empty hand and pinched the horned mask upon Narale’s face. He ripped it off and laughed as the Toa of Ice was reduced to a small, short version of herself. A Matoran. Fritz threw her to the side and stared at the mask. “What a pretty thing! Small enough to be a snack! What do you think Kanohi masks taste like?"
“Orano…” said Vosala, lifting his head. “I have an idea. Can you do your breeze thing again?”
“W-well, I g-g-guess s-so,” said Orano. “But-t-t… but i-it did-dn’t d-do anything-g!”
“It will… Just use it when I tell you to.” Vosala shook as he rose to his feet. He hooked his torch handle to his side and ignited a burst of flame in either palm. As the Toa of Fire ran, he did not run towards Fritz, but to the side, drawing a line of fire in the ground between Orano and the beast. When he finished, he raised his hand and the flames followed, up and high.
“Orano!” Vosala shouted. “Do it now! At the guy!”
Orano clenched his fists. Wind, if you’re going to listen, listen now.
The wind whistled in his receptor.
Orano threw his arms forwards, palms out and fingers splayed. The wind rushed past him, directed by his hands into the fire. It picked up the flames and carried them with it as it blew further, upon the icy creature. Fire engulfed Fritz, who howled as his icy shape disintegrated.
With a final howl that shook the snow from the tops of trees, the fire was put out, but the ice was gone.
Fritz was gone.
In his place, a glowing white orb remained, sitting gently in the snow. As Orano and Vosala neared it, they could hear the sounds of blizzard winds, like a distant scream.
“We got him!” shouted Vosala, pumping a fist into the air.
Orano scowled beneath his mask. “H-h-h-how d-do you kn-know that-t?”
“Because…” Vosala pointed a finger at the orb. “That’s him.”
“Don’t touch it!” someone shouted. It was higher and less certain than the two were used to, but the voice definitely belonged to Narale, or whatever she was considered as a Matoran. The little Matoran girl stuck her head out from behind a tree.
“Oh, who is this?” teased Vosala. “I only listen to orders from Toa Narale, not random Matoran!” This coerced a wary chuckle from Orano.
Narale glared. “Well, if you hadn’t just roasted my mask, then maybe-”
“Relax, it’s right here!” Vosala reached into the snow and drew out a mask, Narale’s Kanohi in its natural silver form. It seemed entirely unscathed from the fire. “Kanohi masks don’t break like that.” He tossed it to the Matoran, who caught it and replaced it upon her face with ravenous speed.
“As I was saying…” said Narale after she had reformed, “we shouldn’t get too close to it. Anything that has to do with the Elemental Lords isn’t good for us.”
“Is that what he was?” asked Vosala.
“I thought it was obvious. It was an elemental being, it spoke of a ‘lady,’ no doubt a reference to the Dark Wind we encountered in the Center of Gathering.” Narale’s eyes were fixed on the orb. “I don’t know why he did that, though.”
Orano raised his hand, as he did in his schooling.
She glanced at him for a moment, before she asked, “Yes?”
“Elemental Lords are just made up of energy, right?"
Narale shrugged. “Theoretically. We don’t really know what they are.”
“B-b-b-but we d-do know that-t energ-gy can’t-t be d-destroyed, r-right? It-t-t just-t… changes f-form?”
Narale gave a faint laugh, amused. “Perhaps you are right.”
“How d-d-do we st-stop s-som-mething lik-ke that-t-t?”
“We make sure no one finds this thing,” said Vosala. He held up his hands towards it.
“No!” shouted Narale. “Do not fire-blast it! You could release him again!”
“Relax,” said Vosala, dropping his hand into the snow around the orb. He pushed a heavy amount of it over the orb, until it was hidden underneath a light hill of white.
“W-w-what if-f he ab-bsorb-bs the sn-snow, lik-ke he did-d with N-Narale’s p-p-power?” asked Orano. “W-w-w-what if he-”
“I don’t think he can get out on his own,” Narale said. “Or else he’d already be back.”
“We still have the wind lady to worry about,” said Vosala. “But I think this guy being here means that we’re on the right track." He looked between the two. “To the Frostglade, then?”
Narale’s eyes were fixed on the snowbank the Toa of Fire had created.
“Narale? To the Frostglade?” Vosala tried again.
She blinked. “Yes, let’s keep going. At least we know that we are headed towards the correct temple. Now, let us prepare to face the Dark Wind.”
As the three resumed their journey, Orano found that Narale made certain to stand by his side. Though she said nearly nothing at all, she did say in an especially quiet moment, “You did well back there, Orano.”
“Um, y-yeah, um-m, th-thanks,” Orano stammered.
Behind them, as the star dripped low and the Rimelands were encased with darkness, a mound of snow pulsed with lonesome light.
Part 5 - "THE OUTLAW"
Shynali was astonished by the Toa of Water’s capacity to speak. He spoke the entire way of their journey, from the edges of the Iron Mountains to the sandy jungles of the Great White Shores, and finally to the red dusts of the Flickering Wastelands. It was shocking, it truly was.
It started with a line of different strategies with how to beat an incorporeal enemy, most of which involved some degree of flooding followed by pulverizing. After they passed a distance into the Great White Shores, he began to fret over someone named “Neida” and how upset they would be that he was passing through without stopping to say hello. And as they reached the Flickering Wastelands, and the sand turned from creamy gold to a raw rust color, and the sky became dark with heavy smoke blocking out the setting star, his speech reduced to a series of rambles about how flooding the Dark Wind’s temple would be impossible with so little water nearby.
Shynali never grew tired of it. She enjoyed listening to anything, and every speech was like a lesson in the ways of society. Wherever Toa Kidoma came from, it must be a place with many patient listeners.
Auru, however, seemed much less fascinated by conversation and much more intrigued by the cumbersome clouds overhead. They were dark and plentiful, but they were above their heads, which was not a place Auru was used to them being.
“In the Iron Mountains, you can always see either the star or the moon,” the Toa of Earth said with wonder in his tone. “It’s never dark outside. Here, there is more shadow than light.”
As if to offer its spite, a distance away, the ground burst open with a blast of fire. It boomed like thunder, and then the fire died as immediately as it had come to life, and the quiet, lifelessness of the Wastelands resumed.
“So, which way to Laxly’s?” Kidoma asked.
As Auru began to reach into his satchel to retrieve a map, Shynali asked, “Do you not see it?”
Kidoma and Auru each stared at her.
“What do you mean?” asked Auru.
“That direction,” said Shynali, pointing. “A lone building with a sign painted in powdered Lightstone. ‘Laxly’s,’ right?”
“Yes…” Kidoma said, looking in the direction she had pointed with wide and confused eyes.
“You must have a hunter’s set of eyes!” said Auru. “You can see what we do not!”
Shynali frowned beneath her mask. Had she really expected so much out of her fellow Toa? Still, it was odd to her that these two could not see through the plumes of smoke and weighty shadows that drifted over these plains to the restaurant not even four miles away. What if they needed to discern between the nearly identical nutritious Banabi Nut and the deadly Nabani Shelled Fruit?
“Well, then, Shynali, why don’t you lead the way?” asked Kidoma, holding his hands out as if offering the path before them to her.
With a slight moment of hesitance, Shynali began to walk towards the building.
Laxly’s was a stubborn-looking building, made of a thick wood blackened by exposure to smog and ash. It was only a mere story tall, but it had a wide porch before it, where many Matoran sat and hummed as they played cards and drank warm liquids. None of them acknowledged the Toa as they strode by.
The sign, as Shynali recognized, glowed with a bright gleam from its pinkish-red paint, depicting the restaurant’s name above a picture of a two-prong fork stuck through a roasted insect of some kind. Shynali wondered if, by chance, the tough, blue-shelled bug might taste like the delicious plump Paurar Beetles of Fauna Jungle.
Inside the restaurant, the smells of bitter meat and a million different spices blended with the constant stench of smoke and produced something assaulting to Shynali’s sensors. She forced her breathing to slow, to keep herself from being overwhelmed by it all.
Again, no one looked up, save for the cook, a wide-faced, scarlet-plated Matoran with downward eyes, who waved them over to the counter he stood behind.
Kidoma marched straight for the counter, weaving through the different tables, not a single one matching in design or material, and nearly knocked over a heavy Matoran leaning back in her chair.
“Hey, you!” she snapped. Her eyes flickered, not out of anger, Shynali expected, but out of age. “Can’t you find somewhere else to walk?” She seemed entirely unphased by the presence of three Toa, despite their obvious height and diversity.
“Sorry, ma’am,” said Kidoma, pushing past her quickly. Shynali and Auru followed him, scooting past the upset Matoran without incident, and came to his side.
“What can I get ya?” asked the cook, in a gruff accent Vosala had faint traces of.
“Unfortunately, we’re on business too pressing for a meal or a beverage,” said Kidoma, ignoring the bartender’s apparent disappointment… “Though I’ve heard your Dragon’s Belch Soda is absolutely chamber-rumbling. We need to speak with a regular customer of yours. One mister ‘Grinner,’ I believe…”
“Grinner, eh?” said the cook, wiping down a plate coated in crimson, spice-filled sauce. “You looked like the adventurin’ types. He’s in one of the booths in the back, second from the right.”
“Thank you, my good man,” said Kidoma, nodding politely before turning away.
“Ahem.” The cook waved an empty hand. “Because I went through all the work to remember.”
Shynali squinted at the Matoran, confused. He seemed to be reciting Grinner’s location, as if he knew it without any thinking at all. What was he requesting from-?
Kidoma, with a downcast glare, threw a silver coin onto the counter before the cook, who accepted the payment without any show of gratitude.
What a strange world this is, though Shynali.
The Toa slipped through seated crowds of Matoran quietly munching on various foods, all of which were soaked in dark red sauces. Shynali’s stomach chamber roared in both want and disturbance at the thought of the unfamiliar tastes. In the jungle, her food went mostly unseasoned, but she would often wrap different meats and fruits in leaves to provide extra flavor. In the Wastelands, it seemed flavor was prevalent, and it was hot.
The booth that the cook had directed the Toa to was in a little pocket in the wall, placed underneath a mounted head of some ferocious Rahi with such a wickedly shaped jaw it was impossible to tell where its teeth ended and horns began. Seated in this booth was a sharp figure, a thin person that, if he wasn’t hunched, would likely rival the Toa in height. His legs were kicked up onto the table, showing off his dark leather boots.
“Let me do the talking,” said Kidoma, motioning for the other two to stay back. “I think this is going to take a little more precision than you guys are used to.”
“Whatever you say,” Auru said. Shynali and he exchanged a concerned look.
Kidoma approached the stranger’s booth, sitting on the opposite end. The figure’s face was masked beneath a wide brimmed hat, which he did not look out from. His entire shape was covered in pricey-looking leathers, now worn and stained dark with soot. He wore a trench coat so long it swept the floor beneath him, and from his belt hung some form of holster, with a silvery weapon handle gently sticking out from it. Did Kidoma know that weapon was there?
The legs of the stranger were kicked up on top of the table, so that the heels of his black viperskin boots were nearly in Kidoma’s face. Ignoring this, Kidoma cleared his throat forcefully and said, “Hey, friend. How goes it?”
A low, slow grunt came from the stranger, like what a mother Gorgon Cat makes when one approaches her den. He lifted his head slowly, revealing first a massive, open jaw, void of any lips to fit over his long, pearly teeth. Then, his eyes shone from underneath the hat’s brim, orange and cruel. This Grinner, or whoever it was, was not a Matoran. “You’re either here for business,” he said in a voice so low it sounded like gravel, “or you ain’t here at all. Which is it gonna be?”
Kidoma froze for a second. “W-well, we were actually sent here. By- by Toa Vosala? We heard you know him? You are Grinner, correct?”
The stranger lowered his head again, hiding his face once more beneath his hat. “That would be correct. ‘Vosala,’ you say?”
A moment of silence.
“Oh, uh, yes, I say,” said Kidoma. “I am Toa Kidoma. You may have heard of me. Master of water, defeater of the ferocious Captain Crau-”
Grinner made a spitting noise, and a toothpick shot from his teeth into an empty glass on his table. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you. Listen, why don’t you just save both of our time and get out of here. We ain’t friends, so there’s no reason for me to be talking to you.”
“Wait, no, it’s business,” said Kidoma. Apparently trying to mirror the man’s posture, Kidoma attempted to swing his own legs onto the table, something he did quite awkwardly. “Listen, Grinner, we’re looking for a guide to get us to the Southern Elemental Temple. We have a special Toa gotta-save-the-world matter there, and our mutual - er - acquaintance Vosala pointed us to you to be our guide.”
Grinner was silent for a moment more. “Yeah, I can get you there.”
“Through there,” corrected Kidoma. “In case there are, I don’t know, traps and things.”
Grinner’s hat raised just enough that he could glare at the Toa. “What are you offering?”
Now, Kidoma was the one who paused. “Um… an opportunity to do the right thing? I did mention we were Toa, right?”
Grinner moved from his relaxed seat, kicking Kidoma’s legs off of the table as he did so. He snatched the poor Toa’s wrist in his claws and leaned in over the table until his protruding jaw nearly scraped Kidoma’s mask. “Listen, Toa, I am Grinner. I’m the guy you hire when you need a team of soldiers but only have room in the caravan for one. I am a Skakdi, which means that war courses through my core to every part of my body, from my exalted smile to all eight of my fingers. I am a mercenary, which means I do nothing without being paid an ample amount for it. And once again, I am Grinner, which means I’m expensive.”
“I have three hundred,” said Kidoma, quickly and fearfully. “All I have is three hundred coins.”
“Not enough,” Grinner said, releasing the Toa.
“I’m a fisherman!”
Ignoring the comment, Grinner stood up from the booth and tipped his hat to the two Toa watching. “Perhaps we’ll cross paths again, but I won’t be waiting for it.”
Shynali had dealt with people like this before. There was something animalistic about them, like the more intelligent Rahi of Fauna Jungle. If it did not benefit their survival, they saw no reason to do it. They were selfish, sure, but they were efficient. They, unlike those who worked to destroy her home, could be reasoned with.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, pulling in front of Grinner before the Skakdi could run away. The grinning figure turned and acknowledged her with an unreadable stare. His skin, not plating, was as white as his teeth. He was like the walking skeleton of some once living thing.
“Have you another offer, ma’am?” he asked.
Shynali smirked beneath her mask. “You say you are a great warrior? A soldier, even? One who turns down an adventure?”
“Ain’t an adventure without a treasure,” said Grinner.
“We are not hiring you as a soldier,” said Shynali. She drew her hand to her side and unsheathed a curved blade. Though she had not considered it, she was relieved no one at the diner reacted to the show of weaponry. She flourished the blade, dancing it between her fingers in a beautiful arc of steel. “We are Toa. We are heroes. We are not hiring you as a Skakdi. We are not even hiring you as Grinner. We are hiring you as a guide. We tell you where to walk, and you walk there. You tell us what we need to know and what we ask from you. You do not even need to draw that shooter mounted to your hip. All we are asking is for guidance. Not a mercenary. Now, my friend has offered you some money. It’s not a lot, but it’s all he has, because he’s just that desperate to get to a place that you’ve already been to. My suggestion, from one warrior to another, is that you take it.”
Grinner opened his jaw slightly, and then further as he burst out into a hearty guffaw. “Okay, wow, why didn’t you just let her do all the talking? You’re lucky business has been slow. Ever since you guys started showing up, no one seems interested in hiring mercenaries when you goody-two-shoes do all the hero stuff for free.”
“Excuse me,” said Auru, “may I speak to my friends in private for a moment?”
Grinner shrugged. “Yeah, sure, just give me the three hundred and I’ll wait outside.”
“Not a chance,” Auru said, just as Kidoma was reaching for his money pouch.
Grinner winked at the Toa and turned away. “I’ll be outside nonetheless.”
When he was gone, Auru dropped an arm over his two friends’ shoulder and said quietly, “Are you sure about this? I have heard many stories about Skakdi before. Every time, they lie or cheat or something like that to get what they want and leave the others behind. We can’t trust this man.”
“We won’t,” said Shynali. “But as long as we have the promise of payment above his head, we can trust that he’s going to do what we ask to get it.”
Auru hesitated, then nodded. “I wish there was another way. I wish Vosala was with us.”
“Splitting into teams was ridiculous,” said Shynali. “We need to be learning how to work as a pack. As one.”
“It was necessary,” said Kidoma. “We don’t know where the Dark Wind is, and we have to find her. If we were all one team, and then went to the wrong temple, then-”
“But that’s not the only reason we split,” said Auru. “You and Narale both want to serve our team as leaders. But you cannot stand each other long enough to cooperate, so you positioned yourself on opposing teams. If you had been in the same group, maybe you could have learned to-”
“We don’t have time for this,” said Kidoma. “I’m sorry, but we have some really important things to take care of, and we need to go. I hear what you’re saying, though, Auru, and I think it will be worth trying. But we just don’t have time at the moment.”
Auru nodded again, and released the two. “I will go check on our new companion. Make sure he hasn’t gotten uninspired and departed on his own.” He left.
“Oh, and Shynali,” said Kidoma.
Shynali turned to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have let you and Auru talk. I need to put a little more faith in you.”
“I agree,” Shynali said flatly.
Kidoma raised his hands. “So? Are we good?”
“I believe we are both acting in the way that we see as best, yes,” said Shynali.
He paused, confused. “What? No, I mean… are we still friends?”
Shynali set a hand on his arm. “Of course.”
Outside, Auru and Grinner waited. The latter, hands on hips, gazed up at the two and waved. “As a reminder, you three are hiring me as your guide. Nothin’ more. I ain’t using a single Zamor shot for this trip, okay?”