In addition to the dusty hat, the creature wore long pants in the back of which a hole had been cut to allow the curling, pointed tail room to roam. Trouser legs were tucked into calf-high boots. Above the belt the hairy chest was partially covered by a checked vest of many pockets whose contents Simna decided he would prefer to remain in ignorance of. A red bandanna around its neck was decorated with an embroidered pattern of interlocked human figures writhing in torment. On its back it carried a huge pack secured with multiple straps of well-worn leather. Tied to the pack were a pick and two shovels, a shallow, broad-bottomed iron pan, and a tent and bedroll. The bloated, oversized load would have taxed the strength of Hunkapa Aub. Supernatural strength and stamina notwithstanding, it clearly taxed the endurance of the red-faced phantasm.
Herdsman and demon considered one another. Then the profane apparition clasped one clawed, long-fingered hand to its exposed scarlet chest and shivered.
“Sure is cold out today.”
“We find it tolerable,” Ehomba replied.
“You would.” The demon began slapping its arms against its sides. It momentarily tripled their length so that it could also slap at its back and lower legs.
For once, Simna had nothing to say, preferring to let his lanky companion conduct the entire conversation. If he could at that moment have rendered himself wholly invisible, he would gladly have done so. While the physical appearance of the demon was no more abhorrent than that of certain bureaucrats the swordsman had known, its face was a mask of pure horror, a promise of all the torments and suffering the netherworld was heir to. One joked with such a hideous specter at the risk of one’s life and limb.