Holding the mangled pucker brownish map. Squinting his focus thoroughly. Scanning indirectly with flinched saccade eyes. His white gloved hands, held their guiding chart. Feeling the corroded rust tarnishing the materials. In his prosthetic mechanical. Handicap limb of a burdensome arm.
his armored hips as he scanned the empty road ahead,
βMaybe we shouldβve just asked that merchant for clearer directions instead of storming off,β he added with a small sigh, the faintest note of fond exasperation in his tone,
βYou know, not everyoneβs out to insult your sense of direction.β
