Callan wins another dice roll. His companions, a band of scurrilous Shemite raiders, look at him with undeniable envy as he pulls his winnings toward him.
“Mitra looks favorably upon you this night,” one of the raiders suggests, “and you have cleaned me out.”
“We are done! We should rest tonight before seeking more loot in the morning,” says another.
Everyone moves away from the campfire. Callan finds his spot under a simple awning by his horse. His head swims from the wine he has imbibed. He quickly settles into a restless sleep.
As he awakens, anger quickly rises in him as he takes in his surroundings. His head is pounding and he has been deserted in the night. His horse, his water and his winnings have been stolen. He is in the middle of the desert in Shem. So much for Mitra, Callan thinks to himself. It was going to be a long day.
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