Tsillu snapped out of his satisfied daze as the formerly oppressive silence was broken. Someone was outside. Fearing the worst, Tsillu brushed dirt back over the corner of whatever it was that he had found, narrowing his eyes. The Society's guidelines for archaeologists included a warning about tomb robbers and what to do in a situation that involved the na'er-do-wells of all walks of life.

None of the opposition Tsillu had previously faced ever... well, essentially knocked.

His mind flicked over the possibilities. If it was a na'er-do-well, why didn't they enter the tomb and attempt to take him by surprise?It wouldn't end well for either party, but why announce their presence? And why here? The desert was full of richer temples and easier bait. If they were robbers and knew about the portents, they would have to be smart enough to know you don't let a Society archaeologist know you were going to attack. Tsillu's hand brushed against his belt, a fine, flexible blade of elven make that bent like a whip and could be tied like a metallic sash.

If it was a wanderer of the waste, what could be the harm of helping out?

If it was Society help, they would know who he was and, arguably more importantly, his employment number.

Tsillu shook his head. Better go see what they wanted. He plucked a feather from his upper arm with a soft grunt and held it out in front of him, bowing his head slightly. With a hushed voice, he chanted the ancient tengu incantation he had been taught since hatching and shrunk down to a fraction of his usual size. A nondescript crow stood where he had been, his book, stylus, and brush hidden under a sand-colored tarp with the rest of his supplies. With a flutter of black feathers, he launched himself back up the tunnel, veering through the sharp turns, and, squinting against the sudden glare, out into the blinding sunlight.

He cawed several times, looping over the orc and her horse.No, the Society didn't employ orcs. Not for normal business anyway. Certainly not for work around here. Too hot. It was a nice horse though. Local breed. Expensive. Not a wanderer. Probably. Robber? One well off could afford the supplies to get out this far. But robbers usually got good and went home. Again, she had called out to see if anyone was inside. Strange tactic for people who thought they owned the past. He eventually settled between her and the entrance to the tomb, staring up at her. He cawed again, shifting his wings and planting his feet in the sand.