Dragon Wing

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“Be at ease, Haplo. come in and make yourself comfortable. Sit down. There are no formalities between us.”

“Allow me to fill your glass. We drink what was once called the stirrup cup, a salute to your long journey.

“You like the port? Ah, my talents are many and manifold, as you know, but I begin to think that only time—not magic—can produce a truly fine port. At least that’s what the old books teach. I’ve no doubt our ancestors were right about that ... no matter how wrong they were in other things. There is something about the drink I miss, a warmth, a mellowness that comes with age. This port is too harsh, too aggressive. Fine qualities in men, Haplo, but not in wine.

“So, you are prepared for your journey? Is there any need or want I can satisfy? Say so, and it’s yours. Nothing?

“Ah, I do envy you. My thoughts will be with you every moment, waking and sleeping. Another salute. To you, Haplo, my emissary to an unsuspecting world.

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