“Give me your scrip.” The man has a blade, the handle carved from volcanic stone. “Now.”
Rekkit, dressed as a beggar on the dusty road, smiles. He knows the man, his name, his story. “You have more than me. Why take what little I have?”
“Not your concern.”
Rekkit shrugs, gives the robber the meager fruit of his pockets, and then watches while he continues on, down the road.
The folk haven’t discovered radiation yet, so the robber will not know why he sickens. Vyl will be angry, as all folk are her children, but some lessons must be taught.