The big bear murmured again, shoving a head the size of an anvil against Ringo Flinthammer’s elbow as he got dressed.
“Ah know, boy! But Ah ain’t gaen’ naewhere.”
Doctor VanHowzen smiled indulgently.
“Your bear companion has scarcely strayed more than a few feet from your side, ever since you were both discovered at sea. Indeed, we had to bring in a Druid of the Claw to explain that we weren’t trying to hurt you before he let us operate on you.”
Ringo took them off, inspecting them.
“Khaz’goroth on a cracker! They’re cracked!”
“You did fall off the back of Deathwing into the ocean …”
“Oh, aye,” Ringo said, pulling on the goggles anyway. “Reckon Ah’ll be replacin’ these soon enough.”
“Certainly, once you’re back home,” VanHowzen nodded, lifting up the sack of Ringo’s remaining belongings. At last, they were going to move him from the keep’s infirmary to the Theramore Inn. “That letter you sent back home should be there quickly — Lady Proudmoore has copied Dalaran’s mail system, so your letter should have already arrived in Theramore, and … what’s that noise? Is that a zeppelin?”