The swordsman was reluctant to concede the point. “How about we just let our common sense be swept, and hope that we find a spring as soon as we strike the foothills?”
Ehomba pursed his lips disapprovingly. “You are more afraid of what we may encounter in this town than you are of dying of thirst?”
Simna jerked a thumb toward the gully where the prospecting demon had disappeared. “If that thing was representative of the general citizenry of this particular metropolis, then my answer is yes.”
It did not matter. He was outvoted. Having followed Etjole Ehomba this far, neither Hunkapa Aub nor the black litah was about to dispute his judgment. That was because both of them were dumb animals, Simna knew, though he was loath to point it out. Grumbling, he hoisted his pack and water bags and followed along.
Maybe he was worrying needlessly, he told himself. Maybe the demon had been having a little fun at their expense. Skawpane might prove to be a quaint, if isolated, little oasis of a community, its dusty streets shaded by palm trees, its inhabitants serene and content with their lot. Believing this, wanting to believe it, he marched along beside his tall companion with a renewed feeling of confidence. Even if he was wrong and his hopes were to prove unrealized, how bad could it be? A town was a town, with all the familiar urban baggage that implied.
When they finally reached the municipal outskirts, he saw that he was only partially correct. Skawpane was a community, all right.
But it was no oasis.