Well, that was about the initial offer...he'd gotten screwed worse bartering in Afghanistan, though never for his own things. He tips three juulan out onto his hand - he hadn't wanted to put them in a pocket and bump one of his bandaged stubs against it and swear up a storm - before handing them to the merchant, who gives him the camcorder with ill grace. Miles sighs when he secures the strap of the camcorder on his right hand; missing finger or not, that arm feels weirdly complete again.

"I guess I should thank you," he says to the woman leaning her head on his shoulder.