Numair happens upon Volney drinking. Although Numair refuses at first, Volney persuades him to have a glass, and then another and another...

"Do you have regrets?"

"No. I don't think so..."

"Really? Not even the taking of a child-bride?"

"What? No! You're one to talk; having an affair with a regicidal inmate a decade your senior."

"—And still so very alluring. Sadly, I am only after the old bird for her money."

"What money? Oh... you're ridiculous."

"And a bad businessman."

"Wait. I have one."

"You have one what?"

"A regret, Volney. If you'd rather not hear it..."

"No, no. Go on."

"So there was this man I knew once—"

"From Carthak?"

"Yes, actually, how did you know?"

"All your Carthak stories start that way."

"What? They do not!"

"Yes, they do. Past tense and purposely vague. So this man... A noble?"

"No, a student. A mage. We had a fight and I turned him into a tree."

"You what? That's awful!"

"No, no. He was asking for it, but when—"

"You watched him march up to a venerable old oak and say 'Eat me?'"

"It doesn't work that way, and would you let me finish?"

"Okay, okay. 'Wood.'"

"So when I turned him into a tree, somewhere else in the world, a tree turned into a man—"

"Ah... and now you angst yourself to sleep every night over the tree's well-being. I see."

"It seems pretty cruel."

"Hm. You should change him back!"

"What?? No—"

"Yes! You should! Where did he... take root? I was going to say he was planted, but—
It appears:
I have not got the words in my vocabular-ee
To describe the life cycle of a former tree."

"Oh, my ears! That song doesn't even get better with alcohol. I do seem to recall there was a grove—"

"Great! I'll follow you. Where are my boots?"

"This isn't a good idea."

"What? Boots? You think shoes?"

"I'm not talking about footwear! Turning Tristan back into a man is a bad idea."

"Tristan?"

"Tristan Staghorn."

"Really? That's a funny name. He's just a regular woodsman, isn't he?"

"Volney, he's a dangerous criminal."

"Who is stuck inside a tree. Salamlander."

"Is a tree, actually. And did you just call me Salamander?"

"Sort-of. You also have a funny name."

"And Volney Rain is so much better."

"It's a family name. Many, many generations of Rains. And Volneys."

"I'll believe that when I see your alleged family."

"They are a simple folk, and also they may or may not be on the run from the loan sharks I acquired in my misspent youth. And anyway, to get back to the point, your friend is still stuck in a tree, which is worse than death. If you can't think of an ex-friend in need, then think of the tree that isn't a man—or, no, that's Tristan... Think of the tree that is a man... now?"

"...This is still a bad idea."

"Look, you can do it, right? You're a Black Robe, not some amateur who can't even undo his own work."

"Of course I can do it! Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. Take your boots. You'll wreck your shoes."

"Let me just grab a flagon."

"We are so stealthy."

"I can't help it if your 'cloaking magic' doesn't work."

"It works; it just doesn't block sound. What was it you told that guard? Something about how his master who picked the livery obviously hated him for sleeping with his wife, and gave him the rejected batch from the dyers shop to publicly humiliate him?"

"Oh yes, let's have a dramatic re-enactment!: 'Look at that poor man. How can someone look imposing when their beard clashes with their face? No, I mean, when their jacket clashes with their beard?'"

"I am the guard: I am trying to look like disembodied voices insult me all the time, but my face is turning puce—more puce."

"Some colour that makes puce look good. Do you think he knew it was us?"

"I think we'll find out tomorrow morning. Or afternoon, when we will more likely wake up. Oh, no!—Daine's going to kill me."

"Yes, yes, me too. Speaking of tomorrow, by the way, we've been walking for hours. Are we even getting close to the spot?"

"Um... I think it's about a village away. Maybe a hamlet or two?"

"Oh perfect. Do you want to speed this up a bit?"

"How do I do that? We're stumbling along as fast as we can."

"I don't know. You're the mage, you tell me."

"Okay, hold on."

"Yes! Abusing magic for personal gain—"

"—Ugh. There is no personal gain here; I'm going to be sick."

"I forgot you don't like to travel that way."

"It was for a good cause. Hand over the liquor."

"No! You're not going to drink—you'll be sick!"

"I need it to numb the pain."

"That is just not right. You're the one with the flagon, anyway."

"Oh yes! Other hip. Oops, butterfingers. There we go!"

"I can't watch."

"Hey, if there's something going down, there's nothing coming up."

"That's disgusting."

"Here."

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself. Which way?"

"This way."

"You just picked this direction at random didn't you?"

"It was an informed decision—Watch the tree root! I'll make some light—but this grove is more like a forest now. He's around here somewhere."

"So what do we do, call his name? Tristan! Oh Master Stag-hooorn!"

"Stop it, Volney. You're waking up the local wildlife."

"Right, I forgot you have to care about that now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. I guess it would be bad to run into a bear. A cranky, just-woken-up mother bear. Do you think there are bears in here?"

"If it will get you to keep quiet, then yes I think there are."

"Fine. So what kind of tree did you turn him into?"

"Stop! Stop tugging on my sleeve."

"Look over there. Slowly! Right there. See?"

"What am I looking—Oh!"

"Good. You can see the small blue naked woman, too."

"It's a water sprite. Hello...?"

"Do they speak? You should ask her for directions."

"Excuse me—No! Don't leave. We won't hurt you."

"That's good, lull her into a false sense of security."

"Just stop talking!—She can hear you. Do you know where my friend is? He's an apple tree, fairly new to this forest, maybe a little angry?"

"I wonder if she understands anything you're saying. Hey, she's a water sprite; we should probably be asking a wood sprite—wait, she's pointing."

"Thank you, my friend. You've been very helpful."

"Which is good, because if you weren't, he'd have turned you into a tree."

"He doesn't mean—Now look what you've done! If I turn anyone into a tree tonight, it will be you."

"Temper, temper. She was pretty, though."

"And the size of your finger."

"You didn't think she was pretty?"

"Hand over the flagon."

"Is that him?"

"I think so."

"Well, Master Salamander. Do your thing."

"You might want to step back a bit. And he'll probably be pretty angry."

"Alright, I'm backing up. Flaming cods-teeth! Who put that tree root there?"

"Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Shazzam! What! Why are you laughing?"

"Is that really a word of power? Street magicians say that when they perform parlour tricks to make themselves sound impressive."

"It doesn't mean it's not a real word; they just don't say it properly."

"Right. It's not the words that matter. It's all in how you use it. Look, there's some legs."

"And a torso..."

"And, Numair, this is definitely not a naked man. Didn't you say Tristan was a man?"

"Tristan is a man. I'm terribly sorry, Madam. I'll just return you to your vegetative state—Shazzam!—Stop laughing."

"I will when it stops being funny. Also, you use the same word to make trees and to turn them back.—Hey, maybe that helpful naked nymph meant this tree."

"I can't just go turning trees into people at random, Volney. It's making the problem worse. I never should have turned that tree into a human."

"No, no. Just come and see."

"Huh."

"You have to admit it is projecting a certain air of malice."

"That's true."

"Is it just me, or is it jaundiced?"

"What?"

"All the leaves are kind of yellow. And the apples are glowy."

"Tristan had a yellow Gift."

"That's a better explanation than liver disease."

"Trees don't have—"

"The tree equivalent of liver disease. So are you going to change him back?"

"I'm not so—"

"Numair, if you won't do it for your own piece of mind, do it for the forest. You care about the little plants and animals in this place, right? Because he is trying to poison them. Look around. The earth here is dying. He's probably working malicious sinkholes into the ground with his roots."

"Oh. I can't exactly let him ruin the forest."

"There you go. I'll be over here."

"All set?"

"When you're ready."

"Shazzam!—Oh stop it. Here he comes."

"Definitely manly legs this time. You'd think that turning into a person leg-first would make them topple over with the weight—oops, spoke too soon. There he goes."

"Does he look well to you?"

"No, I would not say he was in the peak of health. Also, he's a bit hunched."

"He made a twisted tree."

"Very. Maybe someone should have pruned him. No—that's an awful thought. Hey, Tristan! ...No response. Should we give him a nudge?"

"Here, give me the flagon."

"Good idea—oh, I thought you meant for him."

"I did. I do. He's probably cold, too."

"Would you like to give him the coat off my back?"

"Thank you, Volney. That's sweet of you."

"I thought so. What are you doing? Don't choke him with it! How can your child-bride let you feed your own children? Stop, stop! He's coming to."

"Aaahh...rram?"

"He remembers you!"

"That's probably not a good thing."

"Aaa..rram... I... kill... you."

"Well. That's not nice. At least he remembers you."

"Hi Tristan. I guess it's been a while. This is my friend, Volney Rain."

"How'd you do."

"...Die."

"Well, okay, I can see where you'd be angry, but Numair has something to say to you."

"I'm sorry I turned you into a tree."

"There!"

"I should have killed you outright, and not made a tree suffer by turning it into a person. The guilt eats at me."

"You could have stopped after the first part."

"He nearly killed Daine."

"What? You didn't mention that! She's going to kill you for turning him back."

"But you said!—"

"I didn't know he nearly offed your wife!"

"...Married... your... student?"

"See what you've done now: he's going to choke on his laughter and die. And that's… not what we want to have happen??"

Thank you imo for " marks and for making sense of late-night ramblings. 3