The Last Thunder
Barun said, gesturing them to leave.
Miria followed her grandfather with another glance at the warehouse. “Who was that, grandfather?”
“That’s my friend from Deleima. He transported fruits and vegetables from their village,” the old man answered.
“Oh, does he also transport Derima fruit? The fruit that has smaller fruits inside it that’s orange in color?” Miria asked, looking a bit curious.
“Oh yes, and he ever gave me one at lunch break. It taste sour, yet sweet, it was nice,” Barun said, smiling as he remembered the taste. “Sadly, it’s quite expensive.”
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