EXCOLO

I hear the wolf-girl in the kitchen, talking to someone about stews and soups. Beef stew. Hopefully the cook here's better than the one at the damned inn. Not that any chef can match the taste of bloody meat ripped living from the bone, but it'll do. In the meantime, Sugaar is debating semantics with Glass. "And what, mistress, would you call the difference between sense and wisdom? Much wisdom is sense worn in, like a shoe, by time, think you not? Rollo I raised from a pup. Largest of his litter. I lost him, or he lost me, on the road, and sorrow I made, for travelling as I do I have not many constants save the rising and setting of the sun. But as I came to town he found me again, was that not wise of him?"

I'm going to need more whisky if that keeps going, and my damned bowl is empty. I press my paw on the rim of the bowl so that it rattles on the floor. Maybe the bartender will get the hint.

"Or perhaps as you say it is sense rather than wisdom, but in any case I'll drink to his safe return. Will you join me, mistress?"

Oh, this should be good. I lick the last drops of water from my whiskers and look at Glass, grinning.

"Say rather t'your luck in finding him again." she says, looking at me. And hell, I'll drink to that too, if the goddamn bartender would get off his ass. There are definite disadvantages to this form. "'m Glass Beddau, and missed your name?"

I rattle the bowl again. I swear, if he makes me stand up and drop it on the bar, I'm going to bite him.