Karib

The campfire crackles between you, and its light snatches from the darkness the face of a man who has looked at the fire for too long and slept too little. — Sit down, if you want. The place by the fire is free for those who come with honest intentions, the voice even, heavy, without warmth. He slowly turns his head towards you, and there is no traveler's curiosity in his eyes, but a cold, trained calculation. — You come from the east. Past the old caravan trails. Tell me, traveler: have you not encountered a tent where it should not be?