Sheepeater Cliff eighty-seventh

The piebald man meticulously arranged his selection of pouches before turning his attention to making their camp as comfortable as possible. Each task was performed with a practiced efficiency that attested to his time as a fellahin. Grasses and twigs were cleared away, and the ground was smoothed with deft strokes, transforming the rough wilderness into a temporary haven.

As he worked, his gaze wandered, eventually catching sight of Legend.
The moment their eyes met, he abandoned his task, the foliage slipping from his grasp to join the earth below. He trotted over to her, pulling away the bag and batting at the jackdaw teasingly, Begone demon, he chided lightly, this isn't for you.

With the pouch safely out of reach from the mischievous jackdaw, he returned to his task. However, he paused, ears pricking up attentively as the prince began to speak. Moreo? he echoed, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. He had heard the term tossed around but lacked specifics. Was that one of Akashingo's palaces?