"He'll be back soon, I hope?" said Dillon. "The priest, I mean."
"Alas, not for at least thirty days, and perhaps more. He knew not where his pilgrimage would lead him."
"But if you have more troubles like this?"
"Our misfortunes," said Bila, his face downcast. "If the Gods see fit to abandon us to the miseries of the world, what can mere men say? If some must die, than they shall surely die."
"No!" He regretted the word the moment it was out, but it was too late to recall it. The milk was spilt, and crying would be foolish at this point. "No. If you have troubles, come to me. I will do what I can, although I am not sure that it will be much."
"Ten million thanks, starman!" His eyes glistened with joy. "Our people shall be eternally grateful."
"You'd better save your thanks, until you're sure that I can help you. But right now, I'd appreciate a guide back to the post, and a lamp, so I don't fall anymore."
"Of course. It shall be done immediately." He motioned for one of the men in the hut, who came with a lamp. Bila held the hangings aside, and the two passed outside into the blackness again.
The trip back to the trader's shack passed without mishap and Dillon went to sleep quite pleased.