The wagons looked new, as if they’d been abandoned only hours before; it was the sun-bleached bones littering the desert pavement that betrayed their age and provenance.
“Search everything,” Carrand ordered, and his soldiers fanned out. The bones looked to be those of men, of dwarves, and of the Mules. The poor souls would have had scant seconds between the first scree from above and their deaths. The bones were bare, with nary a shred of cloth or leather. The wagons would be empty, too; Hygo raiders leave nothing they can either devour or carry with them into the sky.
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