"Sure. why not?

They sat for a time and Tlingel told him of the morning land, ofprimeval forests and rolling plains, of high craggy mountains andpurple seas, of magic and mythic beasts.

Martin shook his head.

"I can't quite see why you're so anxious to come here," he said,"with a place like that to call home."

Tlingel sighed.

"I suppose you'd call it keeping up with the griffins. It's thething to do these days. Well. Till next month ..."

Tlingel rose and turned away.

"I've got complete control now. Watch!"

The unicorn form faded, jerked out of shape, grew white, fadedagain, was gone, like an afterimage.

Martin moved to the bar and drew himself another mug. It was ashame to waste what was left. In the morning, he wished the unicornwere there again. Or at least the horn.

It was a gray day in the forest and he held an umbrella over thechessboard upon the rock. The droplets fell from the leaves and madedull, plopping noises as they struck the fabric. The board was upagain through Tlingel's P-Q3. Martin wondered whether Grend hadremembered, had kept proper track of the days... .

"Hello," came the nasal voice from somewhere behind him and to theleft.

He turned to see Grend moving about the tree, stepping over themassive roots with massive feet.

"You remembered," Grend said. "How good! I trust you alsoremembered the beer?"

"I've lugged up a whole case. We can set up the bar right here."

"What's a bar?"

"Well, it's a place where people go to drink-in out of the rain—abit dark for atmosphere—and they sit up on stools before a bigcounter, or else at little tables—and they talk to each other—andsometimes there's music—and they drink."

"We're going to have all that here?"

"No. Just the dark and the drinks. Unless you count the rain asmusic. I was speaking figuratively."