“You said that our options were restricted. That implies that options exist. What are ours?”
“For obtaining water?” The lizard turned, claws clattering on the bone sidewalk, and pointed. “The central plaza lies just ahead, on the other side of the memorial municipal ceremonial slaughterhouse. In the middle of the plaza is the town fountain. That’s where you’ll find your water.”
“And no one will object to us filling our bags?”
The reptile shrugged. “Your very presence here is an insult to all that is profane and unredeemed. Mortals don’t belong in Skawpane. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still alive. I would’ve thought by now that some enterprising perversion would have killed you, skinned you, and hung you out to cure in the sun. Or done so without killing you.” Cold reptilian eyes regarded them speculatively. “As I said, you’re an odd lot. You might get your water. Of course, after that you still have to make it safely out of town.” A scaly thumb gestured.
“Remember: on past the slaughterhouse, middle of the central plaza. And good luck.”
With that it resumed its stroll along the sidewalk and had not gone more than a couple of yards before something long, leprous, and scarlet shot out from within a shaded storefront to wrap snakelike several times around its middle. Hissing violently, the lizard was drawn back into the depths of the aperture. From within arose the sounds of violent and desperate conflict.
The travelers did not linger to witness the outcome. Ehomba led them onward, away from the noise of fighting. Not only was it the safe thing to do, it was the accepted reaction. None of the other locals out walking the streets paid the slightest attention to the shrouded life-and-death struggle taking place nearby. They went about their business as if nothing untoward were taking place—which for Skawpane was perfectly true.