He set out in the direction of the city, assuming that Reynold had done the same. It was what Reynold had come for, after all. Almost immediately Garv stumbled over a rise in the ground. You're in a forest, idiot! Pick up your feet! He looked down at them, resolved to place them more mindfully, and his attention was caught by what lay beneath them. All around him was a thick growth of purplish grass, except in the spot where he stood. Here the grass was thin and spotty, as if the growth was newer than that around it. He measured the sparse patch with his eyes. It was somewhat less than a meter wide and a little over two meters long, and the soil on it was loose and slightly mounded. Even in the middle of a foreign culture it was hard not to recognize the characteristics of a fairly recent grave--and located where it was, whose could it be but Reynold's? Garv stepped off it hastily.
Cue Twilight Zone theme.
Come back next Friday for more.
In the meantime, may the bird of paradise
build a nest in your bank account.