"It's cold ash, it's wet, but it's not nearly as satisfying as Otik's ale," said Clotnik as he drank deeply from the clear, clean little lake they'd found at the edge of a wood. It was nearly dark, but they still could see beyond the trees to where the land opened into rolling meadows and fields. Tanis dunked his head into the water. Then, like a dog, he shook his wet mane of reddish-brown hair; droplets rained around him on the sand. Refreshed, he sat down and leaned back against a tree, comfortable in his soft leather traveling gear and cloak. He closed his eyes and, in a habit he had begun after leaving Solace three days earlier, tried to picture what his father must have looked like. It made some sense that there would be a family resemblance-at least in regard to his human features. He imagined a tall, broad- shouldered man with deep-set eyes, a dimpled chin, and a mouth with a slight downward turn of the lips. He liked to think that his father was handsome, strong, and intelligent. All he knew for certain, though, was that his father was a man who would take brazen advantage of a defenseless woman. The half-elf wanted desperately to discover something good about the man who had done so much harm to his mother. And soon he would know. The juggler had promised.