"As you say, Anchor! I could hope for no better."

Marcon watches the limping giant move away, searching for his friend, the turtle-man. A chuckle escapes him at the spectacular variety of people he has already encountered. He recalls, suddenly, the introduction of Treganne's "Peoples of Toril":

[quote]Man is not alone in the world, nor has he ever been. For all their numbers and plurality, humans are like a squirrel at the top of a great tree.
Though he sees far, he cannot say he flies. It falls to Man, in the waxing days of their race, to be a gracious beast in the wide forest of History. [/quote]

Poetic, perhaps, but no less true. Especially here, amid wood elves and tortles and goliaths and even -

Marcon stops himself from even thinking the word. A few nights ago a drunken drover at a caravanserie lost an ear for referring to the half-elven bodyguard as a Drow. His chuckle peters off, and he begins to wander the caravan himself, making small talk with anyone who seems inclined.