Foxglove scowled into his tankard, looking for all the world like an elf without a care. But as he listened to Annie’s sob story, something cold and hard in his melted, just a little. Maybe he did have a soft spot for something as defenseless as a child. More selfishly, he knew the alternative to helping her was sitting around uselessly until he got run out of town. He set his tankard on the table and stood.<br/><br/>Already he was turning the puzzle over in his mind. Gangs and slavers might abduct children, but to take one so small seemed... well, it wasn’t an efficient way of making a profit. The truth of the matter was likely far worse. Vision of dark rituals and child sacrifice flashed through Foxglove’s mind.<br/><br/>“Show us to your room,” he said, his voice soft, without that hard edge. “But I make no promises.”