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.
"They don't want to come onto the path," the kender
said. "I guess this is what the bird was talking about." He
turned his attention again to clearing thorny vines from
Chane, pulling and slicing at them, discarding them by
lengths and armloads. "You really are a mess," he noted
cheerfully. "Given a little time, I'll bet you could grow
berries."
Chane's arms were free then, and he set about untan-
gling himself, shrugging off the kender's attempts to
help.
"This works pretty well for that," Chess said, holding
up the implement he had been using. Chane stared at it -
a dagger made from a cat's tooth.
"What are you doing with that?" he demanded.
'That's mine."
"Is it I" the kender looked at it closely. "I found it some-
where, while we were rolling down the hill. Do you sup-
pose you lost it?"
"Give it back!"
"All right." Chess handed over the knife. "If that's how
you feel about it, here. It's all right. I still have another,
just like it."
Above the blackstone path an iridescent raven
wheeled, circled, then flew off to the north as though
showing them the direction to take.
Other eyes also watched the bird, but not directly.
High on a wind-scoured crag, among the peaks east of
the Valley of Waykeep, a man knelt beside an ice pool,
gazing intently at its surface
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