Tristan was out window shopping. He didn't have enough money to buy any of the jewelry, decorations, gifts an souvenirs sold in Whitby's boutiques, but he enjoyed looking at them, for want of anything better to do with his spare time. He was standing in front of a jet shop, admiring a particularly finely carved chess set of jet and ivory, when he felt a light pull on his jacket. Instinctively, he spun round and grabbed the arm, even before seeing whom it belonged to.

He recognized him immediately, both by his size and his miserable appearance. "Really?"