He looks up from his coffee, letting the question hang in the air. He smiles. “Is it that time already?”
Sitting opposite is a remarkably thin but unexpectedly tall gentleman in a 1920's suit and bowler hat. “When will you answer my question? Why does the Forest hate us?”
“This again, is it? The Forest does not hate, but it must oppose you.”
“But you yourself have called it a war, have you not?”
“Not that I remember”
The thin man places a bowl on the table, fills it with water and sprinkles it with dust.
