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Chane was shaping a serviceable anvil and showing
some of the younger hill dwarves how to cut blade-stock
when the hum of conversation around him died, and he
looked up. And gawked.
Jilian Firestoke stood before him, staring in profound
disbelief. Jilian Firestoke, who was supposed to be safely
home in the Daewar district of Thorbardin. She stood
just yards away, here in the wilderness, dressed in rugged
trail garb and sturdy boots, with a broadsword slung at
her back. Still, beyond all doubt she was the same Jilian
Firestoke who so often filled his dreams. Morning sun
danced in her hair and gleamed in her bright eyes, and
Chane simply stared at her.
"What on Krynn are you doing?" she asked. "Those
clothes... I never saw anything like those. And your
cheeks are ruddier than before. You look older, too.
What is that?" She pointed at his face.
Chane groped for words and found none.
"That spot on his head?" the grinning kender beside Ji-
lian asked. "The red moon gave him that. It has some-
thing to do with the crystal he has. The Spellbinder."
Chane tried again. "J - Jilian?"
"I told you he'd be surprised," the kender chatted.
"Surprised?" A tall man with sword and flinthide
shield came into Chane's shocked and narrowed view.
"I'd say he's speechless
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