"He's in the backyard, the mountainous bit. So are Miles and Ivan, waiting for him to come back - I offended him and he stormed off. They will be surprised to see you; possibly I should go along."

"What would you contribute to the situation?"

"Slightly increased expectability. If you'd rather go without me I'll continue reading."

"Going by myself sounds more fun."

"For whom?"

Ivan is passing the time, leaning on a wall of the cave, playing a game on his pen.

Miles, sitting against the opposite wall, yelps and scrambles to his feet.

"Ack! What is this, a convention?"

Mark cracks up.

"Mark."

"How'd you guess?"

"Your sense of humour is a clue."

"That, and apparently," says Ivan, wiggling his pen, "Linyabel said so, except I had notifications off."

"Ha."

"To: Ivan - Mark incoming, I checked, thought I'd see if one-to-one signal works in-bar, looks like it does, from: Linyabel."

"What did she say that sent number three running, anyway?"

"Didn't want to be a, uh, gestation consultant for a fertility-challenged bunch of dwarves having a war with some cave monsters."

...Mark snorts.

"It's a serious issue," Miles defends.

"It's a hilarious serious issue."

"I don't get it."

"All right, all right," he says, desisting with a snicker.