Deljun
The bridge had fallen.
Again.
He would have to have a word with Unsan. He could already hear the excuses the man would come up with.
The mushroom team was on standby, most of them claiming anger at the delay, yet secretly glad of the pretext to loaf around. Bunch of adept lingerers the lot of them. Fortunately the village still had some berries tucked away in the stock house, but the bridge would take weeks to rebuild.
He’d be damned if he was to ask help from his cousin Folgen, mayor of the perfect Gomeno. He would never hear the end of it, during the next family dinner on Jutt’s Eve, even though Folgen would, naturally, be ever so gracious about coming to his cousin’s aid. No, that would not do, he could not go through another of his smug tirades on the wonder that is Gomeno. Folgen would dribble compassion and pat his back condescendingly. Urgh. A shiver of disgust ran through him at the thought.
So no fly, or beetle, to help cross the canyon. That would complicate things. “Makes it interesting!”, as Optimist Gret would say. He rolled his eyes.
With a sigh, Wintun stepped out of his house, gazed disapprovingly at the remnants of the bridge and was on his way to Unsan’s.