CHAPTER 32
“What do you think, uncle?” Benitoe said, as he finished painting the black outlining on the left front wheel spokes.
All the spokes were lathe-turned and painted yellow, green, and red, radiating out from a black hub. Black outlined the borders between the colors along the spoke as well.
Benitoe laid the bowl of paint on the ground with its brush and stood back for a wider view of the caravan while Luhedoc fussed with the fit of the black harnesses.
“Contain yourself, nephew, until I get this right,” Luhedoc muttered, not looking up from his work.
Benitoe suppressed a smile. They were working in a clearing outside the stableyard of the horse farm that Luhedoc had claimed from abandonment on the edge of the district they called Karnag. Most of their near neighbors seemed to
