“I go to the gods,” Rock said. He held up his finger. “There is one who lives here. One afah’liki. He is powerful god, but tricky. You should not have lost his flute.” “I … don’t think Wit is a god, Rock.” He tapped Kaladin’s head. “Airsick as always.” He grinned, bowing in a sweeping, deferential way Kaladin had never seen from him before.
