Rincewind admires the way Ed eats. He and the Dean would get on famously, provided there were endless pastries to go round. He twiddles his little finger around in his ear; it makes a sound like a pool-cue being chalked. He shakes his head. He wants nothing more to do with big, noisy mice. "In armour?" Rincewind asks faintly. Rincewind thinks. He hasn't always known where he's been or run away from. "I don't think so. Is it somewhere in Howandaland? That's never been mapped."