The giant Baffu crawled through the service entrance, scarred knotty knuckles pounding the bone floor like mallets. First Wife rushed toward him holding a towel and once he was fully inside he sat cross-legged and bent forward so she could dry his hair.
“Walk in rain, you.” First Wife spoke in Market pidgen and her voice had a companionable, familiar nag to it.
“Try fly, older sister. Don’t work,” Baffu said. He extended his hands and flapped. Carefully.