Lycaon was looking out of the window from the carriage. The atmosphere was hot in the south. He glanced at the girls, walking in the town. Some of them were dressed modestly while others wear fewer clothes. Glancing at the blazing sun above, he shuts the curtain of the carriage. Closing his eyes, he was cursing under his breath. 'Why did he come here?' He clearly knows the answer, because the king commanded him. Opening one eye, Zorion looked at him. He was sitting exactly in front of him. His sword standing between his legs and hands placed on the pommel of it. Noticing his sluggish aspect, Zorion spoke.
"Why the lord of the west is dry as dust?"
"I'm trying to be like the surrounding, dusty," Lycaon replied with his eyes closed.
