I have a pretty good idea of how this is going to go now.
“Sounds fine to me.” I paused. “Ah… anything vile in those camps?”
“Nah. Or nothing that made me throw up,” Finglas replied. “No human bones in the stewpots, no black-glowing idols, none of that crap. The only skulls I saw were deer and pigs. Oh, and they got a dog-god around here, looks like. Saw a shrine or two in the camps.”
Nellas narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t…”
“Didn’t do nothing except light an incense stick at each one. Didn’t touch nothing, either.” Finglas snorted. “I ain’t some penchannas stripling, brother. You meet a god at the side of the road, you give it a friendly nod and leave it the hell alone.”
…
As it happened, we never had any trouble with the locals around Lost Atlanta, either coming or going. Maybe their dog-god liked the incense. Or maybe his worshipers just didn’t want any trouble.