Leah, Worth, and Hook stood before a long, wooden wagon with several oxen hitched to the front. They were in the middle of thousands of Cru people-an entire mobile society, right here at the gates of Nolia.
Sif drew back a curtain on the wagon. A man sat cross-legged in the doorway, looking at Leah. Deep lines marked his face, and his head was spotted with age. His body was bent and contorted with the hardship of age, and a thin, long, ghostly-white beard seem hung in his lap and draped over his feet.
With a gnarled hand, the old man grasped Sif's shoulder to steady himself, and with the audible creaking of joints, he stood and stepped down from the wagon. Leah was amazed to see that he exhibited so few signs of the common maladies of age other than his shrunken posture and the whitening of the eyes.
"Leah Anavion," said Sif. "May I introduce you to our head elder."
"Call me Thid, please," the old man said. His voice was deep but frayed.
"Greetings, Thid," said Leah, bowing.