She’d pointed vaguely in the direction of the morning sun. “East side of the island. There’s a place called Short Pier there. If you can’t pay your upkeep, then you go stand there to watch the sunrise and disband. If somebody’s feeling generous, maybe they go by and save you. It’s our last resort. There’s somebody there almost every day, sometimes more than one.”
Casters with money trickled in to spend it or gamble it, day or night. ...Instead of going out to Short Pier and saving someone’s life, he suddenly realized. Digdoug shook his head. How completely pointless. What was wrong with people? With the world?
Problem solved. It felt shockingly good. “I have Dirtamancy,” he said aloud, in answer to his own question. Without Homekey, he still had his craft. Dirtamancy wasn’t a home. It wasn’t a side to fight for, or a King he respected, or friends he loved. But it wasn’t nothing.
And Doug's expression in Xin's art. God, Xin's art.
This ending was sad and now I feel sad.
Curse you, Rob Balder.
And thanks for one more wonderful story.