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Moyenda sat at one of the sprinklings of Oasis's staring into its waters as if it held the answers to the world. His heart was on his sleeve and he was trying to judge for himself what he should do. He felt like such a giant sap and released a sort of dreary chuckle.
They had not too recently arrived and there was yet much to be done that he almost felt bad for still hanging around here. Sometime soon, although it might be a day or more away, they would face the vultures. But he was not preparing for an attack, although being the weakling that he was, perhaps he should have. There was something, perhaps someone, who made him strong. But he dared not to say what or who.