For the first of since he left home, Tim felt rested, and not just rested, but well rested.

The magical sleep brought on by the nibble of special bark totally reinvigorated him.

Or maybe it was a leaf.

He wasn't completely sure of the details from the last moments of the Seder party, but that didn't matter anymore. He had a good night's sleep

and the morning air smelled of adventure. Actually, the morning air smelled of coffee, which Tim was sure

smelled even better than adventure. It quite possibly was the greatest smell in the history of the world.

Their new companion Amara insisted upon taking a moment for a cup before they set out for the day.

I'm just a mess without it, she explained to an anxious Nessica while pulling a cylindrical press

made of glass and silver from a leather sack much too small to hold an object of that size.

Now we're questing, thought Tim, making camp, magic bags, boon companions, and coffee.

The soldiers back home brewed the stuff by the gallons, and its toasty, alluring aroma would drift from the barracks

like perfume from a cabaret.

Sailors would haul huge burlap sacks of roasted beans from the heavy river cogs sent up the

winter's song from the sea, and the taverns sold nearly as many kettles of coffee as they did ale.

There were some old-timers, veterans of the last Southern campaign, who refused to partake

of gnomish jitter juice, as they called it, but many and more developed a taste for it while

waiting out the Emperor's folly. On especially cold early winter mornings, Horsemaster Jace would

hand Tim his cup to keep his hands warm. Tim would sneak sips of the dark, bitter brew and Jace pretended not to

notice. When Amara handed him a wooden mug on that horrid field of brown, dry grass,

he felt just for a moment like he was home. All right then, you've had your hot bean tea. Let's

get a move on. We have a long way to go.'

Nessica, in contrast to Tim, was as anxious as if she had slammed the entire contents of Amara's

...