Thwip
– Junk. Junk. Cold sore medicine. Junk. Junk. Junk. Salve for ‘sailor’s sack’. Junk. Junk. Junk. Diluted medicine memory water?! They bought into that nonsense back then? Sheesh! –
Thwip grabs a couple of bottles that look promising and heads back to the entrance to join the others. He avoids looking at the spider. They should never be bigger than one can cook on a skewer. Ugh. It’s like encountering a man-sized chicken.
“I tink we shoult follow t’ wall instead off walking threw t’ dark t’ where we tink t’ door shoult be.”
