“It shouldn’t have been night anyway, though from the way Cashel felt he was willing to believe he’d been unconscious for a dozen hours. He got carefully to his feet. Toads shrilled merrily. He grinned. They couldn’t carry a tune any better than he could: toads, seagulls, and Cashel or-Kenset. Toads were a familiar sound, and in the near distance he heard the rattling grunt of a pig frog just like the ones in the marshes south of Barca’s Hamlet. Cashel looked at the night sky. The stars weren’t ...quite right either. It was still spring—a thousand things told him that, from insect sounds to the feel of the wind—but the Tongs were already above the southern horizon. If Cashel’d had his quarterstaff, he’d have rubbed the hickory just for the feel of it. He didn’t, and he didn’t guess it really mattered. Something moved nearby among the low trees. Cashel turned to face the sound, hunching forward slightly. His arms were spread. “Whoever’s there better greet me like a man, or I’ll think I’ve got vermin to deal with,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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