Truth be told, the only thing Stone had to say for herself after the golem fell was, ‘Thank Faram, thank Iocus, thank Ajora, thank…’ She tried hard to remember all the gods she could think of and give them their due, at least mentally. The young Thief Stone was alive, ready to go home another day to her brother.
Brushing herself off, she sheathed her steel dagger—and luckily, it was still intact somehow—and made her way past the ruins of the door. Entering the hangar, she stared, wishing she could somehow preserve this moment. It was larger than she imagined, surely, and the airship wasn’t in the greatest condition. What could she expect from what that no-name bard had labeled Archaic Ruins? It wasn’t in Stone’s mind to think imaginatively, though, and she shook her head and let the idea fall through her head without much of a second thought.
Coming back to reality, it seemed as though Arielle had spied a chest while the young girl was daydreaming, and Stone walked over to her, hoping the songstress had found the chests contents to be useful. Stepping carefully across the tripwire as the woman had—going so far as to raise her burlap cloak, though it wasn’t entirely necessary—Stone, too, examined the contents.
“I could use potions,” she said immediately. “I have to return Wilcar’s, I mean, and this would save me some coins.” Speaking of coins, of course, she did want to more closely look at the cloth bag, but she had staked her claim, and that was that.
“Whatever I get, though, I don’t want the wine.” Drink was the exact last thing Stone needed to haul home, and the blue-eyed girl crinkled her nose at the thought of her mother.