Well, we could show them up.

"We should show them up," you decide. "Rub it in their faces."

"How?" Miriam asks. "They left three days ago, and Sylene-"

You turn to Kindel. "How much for tracking a name and crossing a campfire?"

Kindel taps his three bony, charred fingers on the counter, staring at the barman. He raised one to touch his cracked, coal-like lips.

"Depends on how much they are warded, how much Miriam knows," he replies. "The wood and hair is easy."

"Well, what do you say?" you ask her.