One knee in the dirt, one raised near his stomach, Skandra took a moment to gaze across the untainted grass which surrounded them. Tall enough - because no one had any reason to cut it, out here - that wind would lay it flat. Which the wind was doing, at this very instant. Tugging on his hat at the same time. Stirring his coat around him. There were clouds in the sky, as smooth as the gray stones in the river they'd crossed to arrive here, but the threat of rain was just that. He could not imagine milder weather. And if he weren't focused on the black sphere which rested ominously in the valley below he might have been content to take a nap. Back to a tree, whiskey in his belly, and he could have slept for a thousand years.

( There was no whiskey to be had. )