“Don’t tempt me, bruther! Don’t think that I won’t. I’ll stop this gut-churning box on wheels right here and get out, and leave you in the care of one too stupid to know better and another who’d as soon eat you for supper as help you!”
“Do it, then. Stop now, Simna, and take your leave while there’s still time.” Ehomba rarely grew angry, or raised his voice. “Forget about the treasure. It does not exist. It is only a phantom you have raised up in your own mind to justify your continued journeying in my company. Free yourself of it! Abandon the wagon and make your way back to the coast and its welcoming towns. I will not think ill of you for doing so. Only a fool risks his life for an illusion.”
“That’s right. By Gworjha, you’re right!” Pulling in on the lines, the swordsman trimmed the sail. The windwagon slowed to a stop. Behind him, the black litah looked up sleepily.
“What now?” it growled softly.
Hunkapa supplied a ready explanation. “Big river.” He looked uncertainly from Ehomba to Simna. “Big argument.”
“That’s right.” Securing the lines, a determined look on his face, the swordsman was gathering up his kit and a limited share of their dwindling supplies. “I’m leaving!”
The big cat was only mildly interested. As always, it found sleep of more interest than the often unaccountable doings of humans. “What for?”
Ehomba elucidated. “Simna has realized that the treasure he sought in my company does not really exist, and he will no longer waste his time seeking it.”
“That’s right!” The swordsman fumbled with his gear. “Only a fool and an imbecile risks his life for no recompense.” Having arranged his kit and stuffed his backpack full, he put one hand on the side of the wagon. Looking back, he glared at the rubbery, limp length of the herdsman gazing back at him from within the cradle of Hunkapa’s arms.