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. It was longer than he had thought, possi-
bly as much as twenty feet from point to rear, and while
its trailing end was no more than three feet high, its long,
slim point was well above his head as he sat in his saddle.
He walked the horse alongside and leaned down to look
below the thing's edge. He sighed and straightened. "Just
as I thought," Wingover chuckled. "A gnome."
The thing stopped moving. Its point lowered a bit as a
metal shaft swung down to take its weight, and its owner
stepped out to look up at the horseman. He stood belly-
high to Wingover's horse, and had a bald head sur-
rounded by long white hair that blended into a silvery
beard. That trait would have made him look very old
...had he been human. "Ofcoursel'magnome," he said
in a voice that sounded thin and irritated. "That'sone-
thingtheycan't takeawayfromme. Bobbin'sthename. I'm-
everybitasmuchgnomeasanyofthem, thankyou. Who-
areyou?"
The question was so imperious, and came from such a
small creature, that Wingover couldn't suppress a smile.
"If I understood you correctly, you want my name,
which is Wingover," he said. "But don't take it out on me,
whatever you're boiling about. It isn't my fault."
"Of course not," the gnome said more slowly as he
calmed down
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