"Eh. Wazzat?"

The hob in the big conical hat peered across the table at Ingrid, or more appropriately, at the object the Darkling had placed there were a certain flourish.

"Its a doll. A ceramic doll. Very old. From the lands beyond the Hedge. I'll swap it for a jug of that golden honey you've been selling."

The doll was old; both worn and well cared for - it carried its age gracefully in the spiderweb of cracks that ran across its emotionless white face and in the elegance of its frayed dress. This doll had been loved once; then neglected; then left on an antiquarian's shelf.

"Bah! I sense no magic here."

"No magic but love, my good fellow. In the lands beyond the Hedge, magic is hard to come by. Love is about all the magic there is," Ingrid replied smoothly. There was hate and anger and prejudice, too, but she wasn't going to explain all that to the lumpy creature. "This object was important. Important enough to be left on display at a... purveyor of lost goods establishment. You have no idea what I had to sacrifice to obtain it." Hard won dollars, some books she no longer cared for, and some clothes she no longer needed.

"A display piece?"

"Oh for sure. With it, you can brighten your establishment. Get a conversation going. Look, you can say, I have travelled the lands beyond the Hedge and returned with this guardian statue. This protected the dreams of children. It'll breathe some life into your place, I assure you."

Ingrid waved a hand to the crude hollow, cut out of the snapping Thorns. A few barrels hugged the writhing walls behind the hob and a other creatures squatted over a few squalid tables. They were all holding drinking jacks. One wrestled with a plate worms. Above her head, an overly large and ornate sign creaked even though there was not a breath of air in the muggy Summer imbued forest.

Ingrid really desired that drink.

"Bah. Not a good trade."

"I am thirsty and seek to relax in your cool shade. You will get an artefact from the beyond which will make your establishment stand out from the crowd..."

"Mine is the only tavern for many miles."

"Then you have an edge over any potential competition. And because your tavern is unique, perhaps one day enough custom shall come that a town builds itself around your tavern. More wealth and prestige for you. I spy a hob with a plan! Why have such a lovingly crafted sign and such rich nectar if you were passing through?"

That seemed to work. The Darkling got her mead and the thick, syrupy, liquid certain cooled her thirst. Fortified her with a much need shot of Glamour too: warm and golden and resonant with buzzing of bees.