"There's no inn, is there?"
"No."
"That's why we're going left instead."
"That's why."
So, it's as that lady said. Left to go right and right to go left.
"Are you finally going to tell me what's going on?"
"Yes," he said, then rode on until their horses nearly stumbled over.
The horses coughed plenty after all that secondhand smoke. It seemed they were also disturbed by those men, since they persisted in walking further, even when they couldn't be ridden anymore.
Hawking found them, yet Bazil sent him back out just as quickly.
After they found a spot so hidden and deep in the forest that even their horses could disguise themselves, Bazil finally exhaled.
He tried to make cold porridge with the fruit, but kept clearing his throat and slapping his face as if trying to sober.
"Let me," Salīa insisted.
Bazil shook his head, but she was able to pull the bowl from him without any strength in his resistance. His head downcast.
"Don't worry. It's only fair that I make the food sometimes. Since you never let me think of it as you doing me a favor."
She smiled as he lifted his head, somewhat pacified.
"You just tell me what…well, anything will do at this point."
He nodded, leaving an unrecognizable expression on his face.
"The girl told you her father's name, didn't she?"
"Banda."
Bazil sighed.
"You know him?"
"Met him once or twice. As I have with all existing Commander Guardians, if not most zazi."
"Are you saying they're not zazi?"
"Oh, they're zazi alright."
"But they were eating animals," Salīa pinched her face.
It's not that she looked down on other practices, but being a sworn guardian of Salazā meant following the land's ways.
"He had a black and gold tiger sigil. If he's not a Commander Guardian, then how did he…"
Bazil stared, having reached the same conclusion. Salīa couldn't help but think of the zebra-patterned flask sleeve she saw.
Using animal skins in such a way had also become frowned upon since Salazāhns believed that preserving the skins of sentient beings is a way to keep the soul in a state of unrest, forever blocked from flowing into new life.
The more she thought about it, the darker her thoughts got. Bazil continued.
"Most Salazāhns have some tribal tongue, and while different, it usually overlaps. This means we can somewhat talk in each other's tongues too. The most common tribal tongue is the one I speak, and zazi naturally adapts to be somewhat fluent with it."
"So, you spoke in your tongue to see if he was a zazi?"
"I spoke in my tongue to see what kind of zazi he was," he paused. "At the end, I asked him left or right."
"He pointed right."
"But he said left…in my tongue. But meant right in his. In lion tongue, we say, 'left,' and 'right.' But there's only one tongue that says the same words but means the opposite. The hyena tongue."
Salīa blinked.
"I'm guessing that girl hinted at what we'd walk into, but you didn't know what it meant."
She looked down guiltily.
"I'll tell you. A hyena may not be bigger than a lion, but it might act like it is. It wasn't too long ago before this was a problem in Salazā."
He lay back against a tree and let his lids lower. After taking a gulp, he said, "Do you know about my paternal uncle?"
There was only one she'd ever known of, as Bazil always spoke adoringly about him.
"Yes, Uncle Azanji, who stays in Bhuan."
Bazil shook his, coughing dryly.
"Ah, I miss him. But no. I mean my father's younger brother."
"Huh?"
Salīa had never, ever heard of such a person.
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