“Are you sure your old boss had many arms?” Saha asked, reserving her instinctive distaste at the idea that the Gruen had harnessed such dark magic that they could physically deform themselves; or more likely than not the dumb ogre recollected wrongly and embellished details in the haziness of his memory. The Era tribe instilled a sense of reverence towards Nature, the basis of their magic, along with the philosophy that there was always a cost to an advantage, and for them, physical strength wasn’t their strong suit.

“Naga are as different to each other as the stones in the river,” she continued. “No two tribes are the same in thinking. If what you say is true, I’m sorry you saw the worst of us.” 

Thunder rumbled; a flash of white lightened the sky near the mountains at a distance. Moments later fat raindrops covered the terrain. Saha was no stranger to living in the wild and was as comfortable in the heat as in water, but she had the sense the rain and possible storm would have the dog scurry into hiding. 

“8 Bright Avenue should be down this way,” she said, hurrying towards the peripheral, residential area of the town. “There’s a tavern a few streets from here, maybe we can ask the locals and see if the mutt is scavenging around.”