CHAPTER 4.8

FOTGOTTEN TEMPLES OF SOUTH ANGUS

She heard someone coughing outside, and the sluggish delivery that accompanied the cough was all too familiar. There was only one person she knew who never made an effort to use his vocal cords, and what in the world was he doing awake at this hour?

She went out of the tent to find him seated on a rock, looking into the Cimmerian sky, surrounded by specks of light. Obviously, a boiling pot of green tea sat over the fading firewood flames? But, owing to him, there was no tea.

He sneezed again, this time more forcefully than the last cough that had slipped between his teeth. The fool was sitting outside with only a little cloth covering his torso, knowing full well the repercussions of his actions. Even with god magic, Alicia felt like smacking some sense into that powerful simpleton; mother nature was no match for him. She got an empty cup from behind the tents and filled it with dried tea leaves, which she threw