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"I don't have any raisins," the kender said. "Sorry.
What are you doing here?"
"Scouting," Bobbin explained. "I've sort of signed on
as chief scout for the Wingover company... since I
have nothing better to do. I'm looking for danger. Do
you have any?"
"Not right now," Chess admitted. "I had an ogre a
while back, though. That's pretty dangerous. And from
what I hear, there's plenty of danger beyond those peaks,
over in the Vale of Respite. Goblins and ogres have taken
the place over. Those people out there by the fires are ref-
ugees. Why don't you talk to them?"
"I've been trying to," Bobbin snapped, "but my
soarwagon needs some adjustment of its aerodynamic
equivalences... which I will attend to if I ever get back
on the ground. I've been trying since early evening to get
to that camp, but I keep winding up somewhere else. I
guess you'll have to give me my report. Goblins and
ogres, you say? And you actually met one of the ogres?
What's his side of the story?"
"I don't know. I didn't stop to chat."
"Well, where's the ogre now?"
"He's up on the mountain, buried under several tons of
rock. Chane Feldstone buried him."
"Chane Feldstone? I've heard that name."
"I wouldn't be surprised. He's famous, you know. Not
rich, but well on his way to being famous
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