"… and in the honored code of our people, we'll adhere to being with you for the fortnight of your kins," Mopylae cracked a wild grin, looking past the bonfire set before him, the crystal shards of verdant inset in circular cyan discs casting a friendly, yet suspicious glow over he and his companion, the man known as Jyqaro. And Jyqaro had a Junta.

Jyqaro stood up, as if to tell one of his oft-celebrated folktales, but instead of opening his arms wide, he thrust his head towards the fire, setting the shards alight with the power of a mind untamed. He popped one eye open while crunching the left side of his jaw down on the ttaro root (which he loved to smoke, drink, and convert into weapons), and plucked forth a zebra-striped cube.

"Quaint beauty, that," Mopylae nodded his head over, amusing himself over the very thought of such extinct creatures. (And how!)

"Don't be so sure — they may be nonphysical, but they can ride with us. Sure as any of the plains," Jygaro cracked a wild grin back, kicking the Junta.