How could he be sitting here talking to a tiny man - who was sitting cross-ankled in the middle of the table, the old book closed before him, and who would have been at least a foot tall if standing - proclaiming himself to be an elf, keeper of the cottage, and guardian to Thom?Thom had been dog-weary when the excitement was over- no, wrong, the danger was gone, but the conversation theynow were having raised a different excitement - but as if fromout of nowhere, the elf - the elf? Could there be such a thing?- had produced a pitcher of juice (the stone pitcher was notone Thom had seen before), containing the same kind of juicehe had found waiting for him a couple of mornings ago. Asbefore, although without the same intensity, he was suddenlyrefreshed, invigorated even, his mind clear, much of thetiredness gone. It was a delicious sensation, a natural one, asif toxins in his body had been removed. His troubled mindwas calmed, his tension soothed, and the remnants of exhaustion still lodged within even became pleasurable.
