“Only one place you might find running water, and that’s Skawpane. They got everything in Skawpane. Another month or so and I’ll be due for a visit there myself, depending on how well the prospecting goes.” From the vicinity of the occulted leather bag, small screams bereft of all hope seeped futilely. Simna ibn Sind shuddered. The chill he felt had nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature, perceived or otherwise.
“What is this Skawpane?” Ehomba asked.
The demon sniggered at some private joke. “Only decent place in the Blasted Lands. There’s other flyspecks claim to be, but Skawpane’s the only real town.” Oculi that reflected righteously hellish origins stared into the herdsman’s. “Go there if you dare. If you seek water that’s unboiled and nonpoisonous, that’s the only place you might find it. I guarantee you one thing.” It nodded knowingly. “You and your familiars will be a novelty. Don’t get many mortals in Skawpane.”
With that, the apparition tipped its hat politely, set it neatly back over the protruding horns, and ambled off down a side gully. In its wake the stink of masticated sulfur and burning brimstone corrupted the air, and bootprints fused the sand where they had trod into dungy glass.
Smiling pallidly, Simna was quick to offer a suggestion. “If we ration our remaining water carefully, we might well make it to the base of the mountains.”
Ehomba considered. “That is what I wanted to believe. But I think now that I was allowing my common sense to be swept aside by optimism and hope. Hunkapa Aub in particular needs a lot of water.” He sighed. “We must make our way to this Skawpane and refill our water bags there.”