“Apparently there’s now a pot of sixty thousand Haydd kees,” relayed Sabienn to his friends. “To be given to the person who executes “Judge Has-Been” and prove it was them.”
“The nerve,” added Teyer.
Sabienn held the paper in perusal. There was a photo of demonstrations at the Court House. None of them were holding signs. They were all holding something else.
Naymee was following his eyes and offered comment. “Signs are banned. But toys are allowed. You can’t ban toys. The Haydds wave fluffy black wolves. The Turrs wave fluffy greys. Stupid, really.”
The article before him also offered its turn on the story he had just heard. Sabienn read quietly and quickly.
“A brief recap. Never fall for the rat cunning of the Turr. Or their bloody-minded stinginess. It marks them as a race that fee
