Carl Sargent

“Has Solan addled your brain?”

“I think this goat must have been fed on old boots,' Stubble complained as he chewed the last scraps of flesh from the bones littering his stew.”

“By Duraden, I have trolls dancing in my head this morning!' Stubble grumbled, screwing his eyes into a squint at the bright morning light.”

“Hirsute? What does that mean?''Hair, you ninny, hair!”