When viewed from the top, he looked like a furry toilet seat. He was just dropping off to sleep when station security showed up. ‘Get off the bench,...you bum. This isn’t a hotel,’ ordered the big, burly agent. ‘Scram, get out of here!’ ‘I have nowhere to go.’ ‘Tough, this isn’t a charity house. Go find a soup kitchen or a flop house. Get out!’ The old man got clumsily to his feet and headed for the door. He knew there was a soup kitchen around there somewhere, but his drug softened brain. There had been no rock jelly in Cairncross, so I wouldn't be able to try that. I had found a small square of silk, but not silkspun, the natural, unprocessed fibers straight from the silkworm. Processed silk lost a lot of its magical potency, unfortunately. Still, it might be good enough to use for testing.My studies of the wardstone at Hoartongue Keep was not the sort of thing you should do while on horseback, so while I rode, I worried the healing draught idea like a bone. Once we made camp. More

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