[If he's at all troubled by the appearance of his shots missing their marks, it doesn't show anywhere in Ralston's countenance. And why should he be? This is the nature of all things: making educated guesses and then recalculating based on their success or failure. The world, even this one with it's great well of wild arcane, wishes to be maddeningly ordered.

(He can see, sometimes, the theoretical advantages behind the Taming of all magic things, even if its grander shape is repelling. Even a hound which dreams of chasing rabbits still fats itself from his master's plate.)]

Then why not tell our partners here of their whereabouts? You've traded Solvunn for pretty dresses. Imagine what they'd give you for the Free Cities. [A deft turn of the cane flicks up her hem by a scant measure.] New shoes, perhaps?