Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [84]
Riding with Barriss while clambering back and forth along the length of her suubatar from head to tail, Tooqui kept up a steady stream of muted chatter. “Strange people these. Tooqui never see before. Not known to Gwurran.” Tilting back his head, he sniffed of the prairie air with his single wide nostril. “Smell different from Alwari.”
“They look different, too,” she commented. “Their costumes, the tack on their sadains, the way their procession is organized are very dissimilar from the Yiwa. What do you think, Tooqui?”
The Gwurran’s eagerness never flagged. “More food for Tooqui’s head. More new things to see and learn about.”
“Well, if you talk talk all the time you won’t be able to concentrate on those new things, and neither will I. How about keeping quiet for a while?”
“Tooqui quiet? Two things that not go together.” He settled himself down close to her, taking up minimal space on the edge of the saddle. “But master command, so Tooqui must obey.” He smiled. “Tooqui good pet always.”
“Sarcasm is not a quality many people desire to have in their ‘pets.’ ”
“Their loss loss.” But as she requested, the Gwurran kept his mouth closed, and despite the obvious strain, settled for observing the newcomers in silence.
Save for their far louder, more garish attire, two of the riders could have passed unnoticed among the Yiwa. Not their leader, though, for such he obviously was. This generously proportioned individual clearly put a strain on his chosen sadain. Unlike his companions, or for that matter Kyakhta, he had no mane running from the top of his head down his back. Looking at him, Luminara suspected his smooth pate was the result of an intentional close shave as opposed to natural fur loss as in Bulgan’s case. In its way, his bald head, gleaming in the morning sun, was as distinctive as his girth. For all that, he rode gracefully atop his hardworking steed.
“Welcome, offworlders! The Qulun bid you welcome!”
Luminara tried to remember how many spaceports Ansion boasted. Clearly these traders, or at least their leader, had visited one or more where he had enjoyed the opportunity to encounter sentients from other parts of the Republic.
“Thankings for your greeting,” Kyakhta responded formally. “We ride north.”
“So we see.” Performing a wondrously gravity-defying stunt, the portly leader bowed without falling off his mount. “I am Baiuntu, chief trader of this clan faction. What seek a mix of offworlders and Alwari in the north country?”
Appreciative of the chief’s description of him as Alwari, Kyakhta replied with good grace. “The Borokii.”
“Borokii! What do offworlders seek among the overclan?”
Leaning slightly outward from his saddle, Obi-Wan replied with a question of his own while simultaneously ignoring the chieftain’s. “Can you help us?”
“Perhaps, perhaps.” Forgoing the reins of his sadain along with his query, the chief extended both heavy arms wide. Luminara watched in fascination. Baiuntu was the first truly portly Ansionian she had seen. “Tonight you dine with us. The Qulun are always keen on company. New faces mean new news.”
“And potential new customers,” Anakin murmured across to Barriss, “though I wouldn’t see that as a reason not to chat with them.”
“It’s not up to us.” Though she professed disinterest, Barriss hoped the Masters would consent to the Qulun leader’s request. It would be yet another chance to learn more about Ansionian society—and besides, the food would be fresh.
Obi-Wan and Luminara saw no reason not to stop and spend the night among the effervescent traders. So long as each side kept to its own camp, security could be maintained, and there was the implication that the Qulun might be able to narrow down and therefore speed the search for the elusive Borokii. To Barriss’s surprise, Tooqui stayed close to her instead