"San!" The man's voice growled out in a rough and ragged tone, more like a snarl than anything else. Given the speaker's identity, that description seemed fitting. "Where the hell are you, woman?"

"Down he-e-ere, Ustal," San sang out, her gaze fixed on her work. "Where else would I be?" The underground dwelling, dubbed her "lair," was damp and dimly lit. The surroundings suited her better than being out in the sunlight. It was nestled within a natural hollow beneath the roots of a sogut tree, with thick earth walls, dark and weighty, crisscrossed by gnarled tree roots that sometimes stretched overhead from wall to wall. Clay bowls filled with...