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The kender surfaced, bobbing like a cork. He sput-
tered, blinked, and headed for the nearest solid surface -
a jutting creek bank a few feet away. Reaching it, he
pulled himself up, water sheeting from him. "Wow," he
said. "Your way down is certainly faster than mine."
When there was no answer, he looked around. There
was no sign of the dwarf. The surface of the stream - a
deep, cold little river no more than twenty feet wide -
shivered with converging ripples and resumed its flow.
He looked downstream, then upstream. No one was in
sight. He waded out as far as he could and began thrust-
ing about beneath the surface, poking here and there
with his hoopak.
Nothing.
"Now where did that dwarf get off to?" Chess mut-
tered. He waded in another step, fighting the current,
and prodded deep into the stream, finding nothing but
water.
Several yards downstream, near the bank, waters
parted and a pair of black cat-ears emerged, followed by
a black head-pelt and then the face of Chane Feldstone,
dripping wet. The dwarf got his whiskers above water
and blew out a long-held breath, then plodded up the
shallows and out of the creek.
"What are you doing over there?" Chess snapped at
him. "I was getting worried
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