Verdigris Ravine if we lose our touch, it won’t mean much

Five of them. Ephraim weighed the odds in his head and found them wanting, his dissatisfaction flitting in a tight-lipped grimace over his face. Who could say where the strengths of this tribe lay? Qiao and he could find themselves drugged and dragged across the desert to an altar for some blood god worshipped by primitive sand-dwelling beasts for all he knew.

To what end? asked Ephraim, squinting up at the bright blue sky through an opening in the archway. Allies were useful only until a better opportunity came along, and then they'd as soon bury their fangs in your throat. What do your spirits tell you?