"Sorry, mage. Local term for traffic lights. Guess you haven’t had time to pick that one up yet." The elf leant forward to the driver; in the brightness of a passing streetlight Serrin saw the details of his lean face. That red hair wasn’t common among American elfs, though his accent was pure Tir Taimgire. Tir Taimgire? The name of that elven enclave had never showed up on Michael’s lists. Serrin suddenly began to wonder about this in a way he wished he’d done a lot sooner.