Naturally enough, this threatened to pose a considerable problem for the Gray Mouser.

After a bit his vision cleared a little, and the first person he saw that meant anything to him was the Gray Mouser.

Tell me, Gray Mouser, have you not known the god Loki before?

I have touched few things in this world, Gray Mouser.

The Gray Mouser woke an hour past midnight feeling fit and ready for action.

Finally the Gray Mouser summed up the last trinity of years.

The Gray Mouser was one of a dozen at the gaming table.

Instinctively the Gray Mouser did not like the object.

Before he knew it, his thumb had shot toward the Gray Mouser.

"Gray Mouser," he said a touch defiantly, as if challenging anyone to laugh at the sobriquet.