"We woke to a herd from nowhere, just standing around the camp. And it wasn't the first time. Getting water at an oasis, humming to myself, poof, there's one behind me. Talk to another rider for a few minutes, and there's two, just staring. I think they think talking is weird." "I say shoo, dumb thing step on foot. I was not paid enough for hurt foot." "Don't believe they stomp out fires. I set them all the time. Gurns don't show up." "Milk the thing? Your mother." —Excerpts on the Gurn, Voices of Working Caravans, collected by Philliam, a Bard!