After a quick breakfast, they once again started off through the forest. The march seemed little different than that of the day before until they came to the shore of a river. Even though it was only about one hundred feet wide, the water was too deep to wade through even had it been safe to do so. But it wasn’t. Not only did huge crocodiles lie sunbathing along the banks with their massive jaws open, but the dinner table sized heads of salamander-like amphibians bobbed through the current. The party followed the shoreline along a southeasterly path. As evening approached, they moved further away from the river to make camp.

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He was pointing to one of the crates at the bottom of the stack against the wall farthest from the doorway. It had black printing painted across the wood. Saba had to kneel down in the darkness to read the writing. “.30 caliber Hecken 98”

“Oh sweet Kafira. Rifles.”

Suddenly what little light there was filtering into the room from the doorway was extinguished. Saba stood up and turned. He was shoulder to shoulder with Eamon. Directly across from them, silhouetted in the subdued illumination was a figure. From the shape, it was obvious that it was a lizardman, a large one. But only when his arms brought something up to his face did it become obvious he was holding a rifle. A .30 caliber Hecken 98 Freedonian service rifle, Saba realized.

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