As the shuttle moved across the sky, creatures of an evil and vile nature watched intently, following it on strange vehicles. Made of hardened bones and leather, these row-boat like sand skiffs glided across the sands, their crew dressed in strangely piratical uniforms. They hooped and hollered, as a large harpoon throwing weapon was brought to bear, the projectile tethered to the skiff itself. The gunners trained the weapon on the shuttle, waiting for their chance to catch their newest trophy.
The native sitting near Laharin spoke, in broken and forced English. "You not from here, yes?" He was an older raccoon, whose fur had paled and thinned over the years.