Instead he finds emptiness, except for an unremarkable pile of clay pots, nothing that would hold value. He goes to turn away, disappointed with their luck for the day and a loud, clattering sound pulls his attention back. The pot’s lids move, clanking up and down as if they were mouths. 

“Hello? I can hear you there! The wizard is such a drag, he never feeds us!” One pot demanded

“Yeah, we’re starving here. Got anythin’ we could have? Anythin’ will do!” another pot added in.

Vraegar is instantly on edge, lowering his body and glancing around, preparing for an attack. Their whines and complaints have fallen on deaf ears though and Vraegar huffs in annoyance, blowing a strand of hair away from his face - he was startled and in front of Fynrael no less.

Fynrael barely paid any attention to Vraegar’s frustration, his eyes locked onto the fascinating pots. “Vraegar…”

“No,” Vraegar snaps, his head shifting to look over his shoulder at the softer horse behind him. “This isn’t our business.” 

The clay pots rattle, their voices odd and jarring in the small chamber. “C’mon, please? Have a lil sympathy?”

Fynrael bats his lashes at Vraegar, pouting slightly, his bottom lip jutting out in such a cute way that it drew a long, tired sigh from Vraegar. “If we must, but it’ll be your resources and your mistake if something bad comes from this, Fynrael…”

Fynrael makes a pleased sound and puts out a few coins, enough for each of the clay pots, holding them out for Vraegar. The leader snatched them with a frustrated sigh, throwing one coin each into the pots. The coins don’t seem to make a sound as the pots gobble them up and Vraegar is backing them out of the room before they can even utter a word in response.