Back at the inn, this time with Jason, the wolf, and the two kitteagles in tow, Rob led the way to the bar. Bardell's eyes rounded comically on spotting the shadow wolf.

"That's not just any wolf, now is it?" the fox kin said, his fur all puffed out. The guardsmen at the bar also displayed lifted scales and a preternatural stillness.

Rob couldn't exactly blame them for that. Their wolf companion was more properly known as an Advanced Armored Shadow Wolf. When standing, his shoulders came up to Jason's biceps. Nature, or magic, or whatever made monsters, really, had given the wolf exoskeletal armor plates along his neck and flanks, and over his face. They were dull at the moment, but when he got worked up, they would glow with a dull red light, or emit a light-soaking darkness when he wanted to be sneaky. Thick, dark gray fur escaped from around the plates, and a ridge of thumb-length spikes protected his spine. The wolf let his tongue loll out of his opened mouth, revealing ivory fangs floating against the dark gray pigmentation of his lips, gums, and tongue.

Even with his ears perked, calm curiosity in his gaze, and a faint wag to his tail, the wolf looked dangerous.

Jason sighed. "Sit," he told their wolf. The wolf sat. "Down." The wolf lay down. "Belly rubs," Jason said, and the wolf eagerly rolled over, almost squirming with excitement. Jason barely needed to squat to reach the wolf's belly, and the sheer joy radiating from their companion brought an indulgent grin to Rob's face.

Bardell's fur settled, but slowly. "Well enough, I see. Your tamer's got your beasties well in hand. Are those spikes scratching up my floor?"

Jason stopped the belly rubs and said, "Sit." With a mournful look, the wolf rolled back over and sat. The spikes along his spine lay down flat to the point that if you didn't know to look for them you wouldn't guess they existed. The floor looked no worse for wear.

While not looking completely at ease, Bardell had at least sunk back into a pleasant professional demeanor. "You said you're looking for a place to sleep. How long, and how many rooms? I have singles, doubles, and a family room ready. With the wolf, you'll have to take at least one single as I'll not have him in the common loft."

"What's the difference between a double and a family room?" Jason asked.

"Two single beds or a single wide bed and more floor space."

Rob laughed. He tapped his fists to his chest and said, "I love ya, man, Jason, but not like that." Turning back to Bardell, he asked, "How much for a double?"

Jason rolled his eyes and shook his head, but his lips were curling up. "Idiot," he muttered, but not low enough the whole room failed to hear him.

Rob laughed harder.

Bardell ignored the byplay. "With the animals, four kop per night. There's a discount for extended stays. You can either get meals for your Aware party included or take off three bits a night if you're staying for more than an eight-day."

Jason said, "I'm hoping we'll be gone before eight days, but we'll know better in a day or two. Do you need us to sign any log books or the like?"

"Log book? No, ah, no. I just need to record your visa imprints."

Jason and Rob showed Bardell the pendants acting as their visas. Rob paid right then for two nights, and they followed Bardell upstairs. The double rooms overlooked the street, and Bardell gave them the second farthest from the stage corner.

"We won't have a musician tonight, but we will tomorrow," the innkeeper informed them as he passed over a simple key. "Only one key for each room. If you lose it, the fee for the locksmith is a tail and five kop."

"Good to know. Thank you," Rob said.

Bardell glanced at him askance, but said nothing as he took his leave.

Inside, the room was three meters wide and twice that in length. There was space enough for a pair of narrow beds to line one wall with nightstands at the foot of each. The heads of the beds were in the corners, meaning the feet both pointed to the center of the room. A wardrobe gave them a place to hang any dressy clothes, and a comfortable chair took up the street-side wall corner opposite the beds. By the door, a flowering potted plant gave the room a fresh fragrance.

Rob headed to the bed farthest from the door and dumped his bag on it. Jason set his own down on the bed nearer the door. The pair of kiteagles settled on top of the wardrobe while their wolf companion blocked off the chair by settling down in front of it. How he managed to curl his bulk into such a tight ball confounded Rob, but he didn't care to think too hard on it.

"We need to get these guys names," he said to Jason.

Jason sighed. "Sure. Got any suggestions?"

Rob eyed the shadow wolf and said, "No pero negros, no nighty-nights, star child, or other names in that vein for our wolf friend. He sure can tuck himself up into a ball though. Maybe Tucker?"

The wolf raised his head and blew out a disparaging sound through his wide nose.

Jason grinned, but Rob could tell his friend was embracing more of a gallows humor than actual amusement. "Nah. What was that book series you wanted me to read, with the mechanic that turned into coyote?"

"Mercy Thompson by Patricia Briggs," Rob said, wondering where Jason was going.

"That's the one. There were werewolves in it, right? Why not just name him after one of them?"

Rob shrugged and turned to study their wolf with an eye to lining up characters. "Hm. If you were more of a cinnamon color, I'd probably go for naming you Charles, but I think Adam was a dark colored wolf, and he was the pack leader nearest Mercy. You're definitely not up to Bran level though. Nope, no Marrock for you."

The wolf's ears perked up and his tail thumped the floor with eagerness. He arou-ed and made a questioning sound.

"Adam works for me," Jason chimed in. Facing the wolf, he asked, "How about it? You good to get called Adam?"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Adam nodded, grinning his canine grin.

Jason and Rob turned to study the two kitteagles. Rob sighed. "I don't remember reading any books with griffin heroes. Do you?"

Jason shook his head in denial. "Nope. Thunder and Lightning?"

"Penny and Royal?" Rob shot back.

"What?" Jason asked, his confusion obvious.

Rob held up his hands in a "so what" gesture. "I thought we were coming up with twin names. They're a boy and a girl, right? I guess we could call the boy Thor, but I'm not keen on Helga for the girl and I can't think of any other matching girl names."

Jason looked at the kitteagles again. He frowned. "I spent a tour over in the sandbox before we met up. Got interested in the myths and some of the stories over there. Did you know that griffins first showed up in the historical records over in the area of modern Iran? I came across this poem over there, epically long, like the Iliad or the Odyssey out of Greece. It's called the Shahnameh, and one of the big heroes in there is a dude named Rostem who marries this chick Tahmineh. If we're going to be naming them out of stories, what do you think about those for names?"

"Eh. Works for me. What about the horses? Seeing as we're getting the naming taken care of and all."

Jason just shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Mocha and Coco?"

Rob blinked. "Which one is which?"

"Mocha could be the one with a white nose, and Coco the one without any spots."

"Fair enough. So, with the names taken care of, we can dive into the packs and see what goodies Lena put in our Handy Haversacks." Pausing only as long as it took to rub his palms together with greedy glee, Rob dumped out his pack.

Cloth spilled out, and some leather pieces, along with an assortment of bronze and steel tools. Sorting through the gear, Rob identified: a bedroll and two extra blankets, tarp for a tent, bronze pitons that might be meant as tent stakes, a coil of thin rope, two travel journals, five of Lena's most recent versions of pens, a collapsible hooded lantern, several labeled flasks, two good sized waterskins with pull-plug spouts, a spice kit, a light net, a suspiciously tingly bag he set aside for the moment, a compass, crowbar, bronze mess kit, collapsible pole, two spools of fishing line, a wooden box holding fishing accoutrement, a fairly substantial wooden box of matches, a grooming kit in a leather bag, a tool kit in a leather wrap, playing cards, and a generous set of polyhedral dice.

Six of the flasks were labeled "lamp oil", and another two were for cooking. One was "oil of breath bane" and the other "pepper oil". The spice kit held bags of powdered spices, each neatly labeled. In the mess kit, Lena had provided a plate just slightly smaller than Rob's spread hand, a spoon, fork, chopsticks, handle-less cup, and a bowl about twice the size of the cup. The rope felt pretty sturdy, and Rob guessed there to be about twenty meters of it in the coil. Rob appreciated the grooming kit: small scissors for trimming beards, a straight razor with whet stone, shaving soap with brush, and a wood-scented body soap.

Various bits of feathers, weights, and hooks filled the wooden fishing tackle box. The collapsible pole didn't look like it was meant for fishing, however. It was made from steel and extended out just shy of four meters. A joke from one of their gaming sessions flashed through Rob's mind: "Carry an eleven foot pole, because there are things you wouldn't want to touch with a ten foot pole."

With a glance, Rob saw Jason making a similar study of the equipment in his bag. The expression on Jason's face made Rob return his attention to his own gear.

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Jason carefully went through the well packed bag. Each item would be useful and demonstrated the forethought Lena had put into preparing the bags.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

Had Lena been planning on kicking him out? Was the fight today just the excuse she needed? Or was there something else going on, plans that he hadn't been part of, like so much of what had been happening in the Studio?

Did he dare ask?

Did he dare *not* ask?

He opened the first of the pair of journals to flip through the pages. A folded stack of papers greeted his gaze, nestled between cover and pages. He set the book down and picked up the folded stack. He unfolded the pages.

Lena's handwriting covered the papers.

Dear Jason,

If you're reading this, our logger heading has reached some critical blowout. I don't know for sure how you ended up taking the Walk-About contract, and I hope we had a chance to go over the pertinent points, but in case not, I'm going to spell the biggest deal out:

Knowing you, I cannot imagine you doing something that would leave me utterly unwilling to ever see you again. You *can* come back to the Studio, and I hope you choose to return.

Related: if you're leaving because of a fight we had, please give me a bit of time to cool off, and for you to get some distance and start *thinking* about our fights.

At the time I'm writing this letter, I'm seeing you trying to be everywhere and be part of everything. There's too much going on for that, and it's coming across as you not trusting the rest of us, and me especially, to keep up.

You ended up as our diplomat in a rather unfair way, and I get that. It sucks to be defaulted into a role because no one else is in a position to step up, and, frankly, I kept waiting for Rob to take up some of the slack as our face to the rest of the world. Then I saw how impulsive he can be and realized that you really did get stuck as our speaker. Candy's too happy to be "an engineer, not a bleeping diplomat" and both you and Rob are too protective of Aaron to give him a chance to step up with the complete unknown of our new neighbors. Brad has only just been reunited with us, and he's got that fruiting ensorcelled slavery thing going on.

But, you're not really a diplomat, are you? You're the guy who likes people, but doesn't like to talk, who watches and never wants to be center stage. It's been just about everything you never wanted to deal with, and worse, you've been caged up in my zone, my dungeon, with the rest of us when there's a whole world out there, full of new experiences and new people to see.

So, I'm hoping Rob's going along with you to watch your back. Even if he isn't, I'm sending along some of the creatures contracted with my zone. They don't have to share a campsite with you if you don't want, but they are going to guarding your back.

So, yeah, I think you need to get out and explore a bit, and I've made preparations for that. I want you around, but I want you happier more. The Walk-About contract will let you keep in touch with us, and the soul gem will mean you get the contract healing without having to be in the dungeon zone, and it will let us know that you're still alive.

I don't know if you'll believe me when I say this, but,

I'm wishing for the best for you,

Lena.

P.S. Candy and I have figured out how to make spatial bags. There should be one in the pack I'm putting together for you. They aren't actually like bags of holding or anything like that. They're more like portable portals to this squeezed space, this firmament stuff, here in the Studio. It's not easy, but I can move stuff in and out of the squeezed space. The bag makes it a lot easier, but you may find yourself using mana points when you swap things around in the bag. Dibbs says the Arcane Asylum uses a similar concept when they make spatial rings and chests.

We are still working on rings, and Dibbs warned that putting spatial enchantments inside other spatial enchantments can destabilize them, so you may need to come back to pick up a ring if we ever get it working.