They're not really elves, they're not really aliens, they're not really *anything* that fits a definite category. All I know, from the words that have been mysteriously spilling out of my pen for the past week, is that they live on a world called Tadafri Katon—which is still our world, but on a different plane of reality, a plane whose fourth, fifth and sixth dimensions are bent about two degrees away from ours. And I know that a man named Martin has helped to invent a machine called a Plane Shifter, which can twist *his* higher dimensions two degrees out of true—and that's what transports him from Earth to Tadafri Katon. I appear to be writing, from Martin's point of view, a lengthy but informal history of his first contact with the Esprit. So far, he's landed by a river in the middle of nowhere (though, as he's about to discover, *everywhere* on Tadafri Katon is the middle of nowhere) and made two friends.

This is the only writing project I've been able to make any major progress on in—oh, I don't know, five or seven *years*. I can't wait for it.

I've drawn my three protagonists several times, and I can't wait for my scanner to start working again so I can show them off... and for any potential readers or Artistic Deviants out there to discover Mirali, Ravani, and Martin/Márdín for the first time. I hope you'll be as surprised and pleased to meet them as I was.