Flar wasted no further time on that subject but took the glove from his belt and emptied the grubs into the other, gloved palm.
These, sir. Have you seen such as these …
Sogranys reaction was immediate. With a cry of fear, he grabbed Flars hand, tumbling the grubs to the stone of the barn. Yelling for agenothree, he stamped on the squirming grubs as if they were essence of evil.
How could you a dragonman bring such filth into my dwellings?
Masterherdsman, control yourself! Flar snapped, grabbing the man and shaking him. They devour Thread. Like sandworms. Like sandworms!
Sograny was trembling beneath Flars hands, staring at him. He shook his skull-like head and the wildness died from his eyes.
Only flame can devour Thread, dragonman!
I told you, Flar said coldly, that those grubs devoured Thread!
Sograny glared at Flar with considerable animus.
They are an abomination. You waste my time with such nonsense.
My deep apologies, Flar said, with a curt bow. But his irony was wasted on the man. Sograny turned back to his laboring cow as though Flar had never interrupted him.
Flar strode off, pulling on his gloves, his forefinger coming into contact with the wet, slippery body of a grub.
See the Masterherdsman, eh? he muttered under his breath, waving aside the services of the guide as he left the breeding barn. A bellow from a herdbeast followed him out. Yes, he breeds animals, but not ideas. Ideas might waste time, be useless.
As he and Mnementh circled upward, Flar wondered how much trouble Dram was having with that old fool.