Simna dropped into his usual place close by the herdsman’s side. He was smiling once again, his mercurial nature having returned to the fore, the disagreeable incident of moments ago seemingly completely forgotten.
“Tell me, bruther: What would you have done if the Berserker had let loose of his hammer as soon as it started to fly away with him?”
Ehomba smiled reflectively. It took a little longer than usual for the slight upward curve of his mouth to manifest itself, but he smiled. “Why then, my friend, we would have had to slay him before he could recover from his fall. Beyond that I did not have time to think. What the wise men and women of the Naumkib have given me does not allow me to perform more than one miracle at a time.”
Simna scratched at the slightly sore spot on his face where Ehomba had struck him. “For a man who spends his days shooing along sheep and cows, you pack a virtuous punch.”
“It is harder to knock down a steer than a man.” Ehomba declaimed this without so much as a smile. His attention remained concentrated on the path ahead.
The swordsman chuckled. “I only had a quick glimpse of his face before the Berserker sailed off into the sky. I wish I could be there when he finally comes down!”
Ehomba’s tone was preoccupied, his gaze set. He strode rhythmically, easily, over the stony, pebble-strewn ground. Not far now, he told himself. It could not be much farther now. A part of him was aware that Simna had spoken, and was expecting a reply.
“Who said anything about him coming down?”