By the time the sun had set, he was sore, out-of-sorts, and so filled with a desire to wrap his blistered fingers around a certain mage’s neck, he was almost tempted to tell that spell of death to go to hell so he could chance a bit of shapechanging and be off to do what needed to be done.
And if that weren’t enough to add insult to injury, someone had stolen his good boots.
He accepted Heather’s invitation to see what all his labor assisted, though he couldn’t imagine it could possibly be anything he would be interested in. What he wanted to do was take himself off to that pitiful scrap of floor, cast himself down on it, and sleep like the dead. If he were overrun by mice and other vermin, he honestly didn’t care. It might send him off more speedily to that place in the East where he co
