Lizardfolk had no tradition of the polite refusals common in human society.
To them, refusing a gift was often an insult or a sign of hostility. Accepting one, however, meant reciprocating with something of equal-or at least comparable-value to maintain the relationship.
The old shaman carefully set down the steel sword. His gaze lingered over the wooden crates, worry creeping onto his face.
For the moment, he could think of no suitable gift in return.
Their visitor had been so generous, providing everything from weapons and salt to luxuries. What did his tribe possess that could match such lavish gifts?
A few fine crocodile hides?
A few sacks of dried fish?
Or the bone ornaments passed down from their ancestors, already worn almost smooth?
Any of those would look painfully shabby beside this pile of steel and spices.
Fortunately, he only needed to prepare his return gifts before his guests left. He still had time to consider.
He motioned for several hunters in their prime to lift the crates, then stepped aside and extended a claw in welcome. "Please, Lord Ye Wei'an. Let us welcome our friends from afar with a warm hearth and roasted fish."
The party followed the village's packed-earth road farther inside.
Up close, the village presented a livelier picture than it had from a distance:
Strings of dried fish and a kind of purplish-black marsh berry hung outside several homes. The air carried a distinctive blend of faint fishiness, rotting vegetation, and burning wood.
Young Lizardfolk hatchlings poked their heads through gaps in the windows, their large amber eyes studying these "big hairless monkeys" with curiosity, only to be swiftly pushed back inside by their mothers.
"Lord Ye Wei'an," the old shaman said, making conversation as he walked beside him, "I heard from the ancestral spirits