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Think, think, think.
Felicia blurted out the first thing that crossed her mind in her native tongue. "Pardon me, but you're very ugly."
That earned a bark of a laugh from the creature in rags. The scarred man looked back.
Lostariel strode right past him, shouldering Felicia who turned into it and fell in step behind her mentor. The blade had been tucked away and the man was going to be free to go about his life, never knowing how close he came to dying. By the time the scar faced man was looking for them again, they were gone.
The two of them snaked their way through the crowd into the caravan landing area, trying not to draw attention to themselves outside of what they'd already gathered. Their course was laid out before them; the path to the 'civilized' Free States was a fairly easy one and they had only a day's lag to make up.
They could catch up in no time.
Felicia had to wonder, though. Why did she have a boat?
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