"Ye gods!" Rythia leapt nimbly back, drawing her useless blade.
All around them, tiny holes in the ground spilled out thousands of tiny lights, like stars brought to earth. They crept in meandering lines toward the small rise where Rythia and Loachim had made their camp, leaving blazing trails behind them.
"What is this?" Loachim snorted, tusks gnashing. He grasped their diminutive native guide on the shoulder. "Speak!"
"Just know," Rythia interjected, swatting experimentally at the ground with her rapier, "if you say 'fire ants,' then so help me gods, I will gut you where you stand and feel nothing."
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