Rughoi looked up from his work at the source of the voice. Through the light haze of dust, he could see the farmer, who was pointing towards a barrel of water. He then noticed how thoroughly parched his throat was. Lost in fantasy, he must have cut countlesss stalks of grain. Nodding his thanks, he put down his knife and plodded towards the water.

The water was cool, so very cool against his face. Greedily, he lapped up a share of the barrel. He didn't care about the cups placed around it, but neither did most kobolds. It was growing dark now, and most of the traveling farmers had stopped for the day. Looking around, he realized he couldn't find his mother. This was worrying.