“Good evening, sir! The Golden Cockerel is the nicest inn on this side of the city. People come from all over to taste our fare. Our stables are dry, and our floors are clean. You couldn’t ask for a better stay.” The small-man paused in his obviously practiced speech and eyed the massive battle charger. With less certainty he asked, “Shall I take your horse?”

Rezkin smiled in return, not wanting to scare the small-man off, and considered the question. It had taken him some time to learn the Skills necessary to handle a hardened battle charger. Even now, the horse was huffing and stomping as he eyed the small-man. The small-man’s lack of confidence would get him nowhere with the disgruntled horse.

“No, I think I had best see to him, myself,” Rezkin replied. The small-man’s relief was evident, but he also looked as though he was not sure if he should be offended. “I mean no offense, but this horse can be aggressive, especially toward anyone but me.”

The small-man smiled and nodded. “Will you be staying with us, then, sir?”

“Yes, if you have a room available,” replied Rezkin.

“Oh, yes, sir. It is still early enough that they have not filled up. If you bring your horse around, I’ll show you to the stables. I’m Pot, by the way,” said the gangly small-man.

“Pot?” asked Rezkin. He had never heard of anyone named Pot.

“Yeah, well, it’s short for Potkinally. It’s just easier to say Pot. I don’t know what my ma was thinking when she named me.” The small-man laughed.

“Your mother named you?” Rezkin asked with interest. He had never really thought about where he got his name. He wondered if his mother had named him.

Pot yanked open the gate to the yard and closed it again after they had gone through. “Yeah, my da was off on the trade route somewheres when I was born, and my ma got tired of calling me the babe, so she went ahead and named me. My da wasn’t too happy about it when he got back, but he couldn’t really say nothin’ since he’d been gone a lot longer than he was s’posed to.”

“I see. I am Rezkin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Pot.”

“That’s kind of a funny name. Why’d they name you that? Is it cause of your hair?” asked Pot inquisitively.

“A man named Pot is saying my name is funny?” asked Rezkin, although he had no idea what his hair had to do with his name.