“I have seen your kind before,” Rock said, folding his arms. “What?” Sigzil asked. “Azish? We are not so rare.” “No, not your race,” Rock said. “Your type. What is it they are called? Visiting places around the land, telling others of what they have seen? A Worldsinger. Yes, is the right name. No?” Sigzil froze. Then he suddenly stood up straight and stalked away from the barrack without looking back.
