After a moment, a man appeared, hastily buttoning a tunic, his hair still tousled, sleep in his eyes.
"Yes, yes? What is it? You are too early."
"My apologies, old man," said the raider. "I am looking for a hunting cloak."
The small man's eyes narrowed. "Ah," he said. "A hunting cloak. I have several. What did you have in mind."
"Something in gray. To suit my name."
"Ah. And what might you be hunting, Mr.—Gray?"
"An animal of my home planet. It is called a jackal."
"Ah."
The old man suddenly turned from the low rack of cloaks and stared directly at his customer. His mouth compressed in a thin, bitter line.
"So. You are he. The Mr. Gray who hunts the jackal. Come."