Relieved of their tack, the horses joined the herd of rashtow without much difficulty. A few of the tall farspeakers watched over the herd speaking in soft tones in a foreign language as they watched. The Franklins, exhausted from the previous day’s travel and unsleeping night, wandered through the camp unable to sleep.

The buildings were made of wood and leather, most resembling dome-like tents. The buildings seemed to be set up in little clusters, around central fires. One large space in the center held a long trench of fire with several stations where pots and grills had been set up. Some of the farspeakers stayed near the trench butchering, cooking, and drying foodstuffs. A number of slender, sleek looking hounds with harvest gold fur, roamed the camp darting here and there among the farspeakers. Several hundred individuals, perhaps even a thousand, filled the camp with life and voices. For the most part they spoke a lilting foreign tongue like nothing the Franklins had ever heard before.

Eventually they found Amien near one of the smaller cookfires. She still wore only a loincloth, unashamed. The Franklins on the other hand, were embarrassed on her behalf and took to talking with her while determinedly looking only at her face. “I speaked for you. This your home.” She gestured toward one of the handful of tents surrounding the fire. “You is guest of family. You stay. Shaman say your silencebringing go then go you.”

“We’re grateful for yer help, Miss Amien. Don’ know what we’d’ve done if’n you hadn’ come ‘round.” Clark said as he settled down on a large rock in the clear space. Howard settled next to him with a groan.

“You tired, is so?” Amien squatted comfortably next to them. “Is hungry?”

“Reckon we’re more’n tired, miss” Clark admitted as he rubbed one hand against the scruff of his stubble.

Howard set his pack at his feet and began rummaging through it. “I could certainly eat, Miss Amien.”

The tall farspeaker rose to her feet and began gathering things from one of the tents. “I make food.”

It took quite a while for her to cook the food, but eventually the Franklins were each handed a wooden plate with a thick, creamy looking gravy filled with chunks of strange meats and vegetables. The meal with served with a stack of thick flatbread. Amien squatted with her own plate and, using the flatbread in place of silverware, began to eat.

The first bite exploded on Howard’s tongue with flaming spices. His choked and his eyes began to water. He nearly fumbled his plate setting it down and reaching for his waterskin. The water only made it worse. Amien’s blue eyes widened as she reached for a small clay vessel, she wordlessly handed this to Howard. He drank it warily, but the creamy milk soothed away the worst of the burning sensation in his mouth.

“That’s hotter ‘en the fires of Hell.” Howard observed before swishing a second mouthful of milk around his mouth.

“I cook, you eat. No complain.” Amien intoned with a frown.

Howard smiled a wan smile and took another small bite. This time he tried one of the chunks of meat and the creamy gravy. Savory, well seasoned. What had he eaten in that first bite?

Clark ate warily after Howard’s initial reaction, but he found the meal well seasoned and quite delicious. A few minutes later he swiped the last of his gravy up with a last piece of flatbread and popped it in his mouth. “That was delicious, Miss Amien. Thank you for speaking for us and welcoming us into your home.”

The tall woman smiled, the gesture felt almost predatory as he blue eyes searched Clark’s face. “I spoke for you, is so. You tired. Spend day resting. Morning we move, you work.”

Whatever happened from this moment forward, at least for now Howard and Clark Franklin were safe in the Farspeaker’s camp.