Page 22 (A band of several figures, indistinct and apparently dressed in white, move through the grass at a distance. They bear two burdened carts) NAVICHET: Eh. They’re going towards the keep. Maybe they’re trading. SPONDULE: (Aghast) Trading? What on-- What on earth could they want? NAVICHET: (Impassive) They need stuff. Same as us. (Turning to Spondule) Weapons, maybe. You want to unload all those arms you gleaned?