Claktiss rode hard, the horse already flagging as she raced the storm to whatever waited for her at Brokeleg.  The road, not nearly as well maintained as the Great Coastal Road, twice threatened to break the horse’s legs and spill her into a pile of shattered bones, but each time the horse recovered just before disaster.  She knew she shouldn’t be driving the animal so, but it wasn’t Brokeleg she rode to so much as her disappointment with Tahn’di she rode from.  Even though she was a smuggler, Claktiss thought she was different—better—but ultimately, she was the same; she was a Trader… nothing more.

With the looming clouds, night had plunged into a dark blacker than black.  If it weren’t for the road, she’d soon be hopelessly lost, or worse...

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