"What's going on?"
Quincy cursed angrily, hopping from foot to foot, "Do you even know what timing is? It was supposed to be a dawn raid, and now it's almost noon."
"Isn't it because you insisted on taking the narrow muddy ditch, saying you wanted to surprise them? Otherwise, how would the wagon get stuck in the mud pit?"
Someone muttered softly.
Quincy's head turned 210 degrees, looking in the direction of the voice, "Who, who is talking?"
All Quincy saw was a group of Night Guards using leaves and pieces of wood to fan themselves.
They opened the fronts of their clothes, exposing their hairy chests, sitting askew on stones, deadwood, or stakes alongside the road.
Faced with Quincy's glaring eyes, they either looked blank or acted like nothing was wrong.
Quincy resentfully withdrew his gaze and continued to oversee the sweaty Public Register Farmers repairing the wagon.
