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The years had passed, and he had come of age and
found work with Rogar Goldbuckle, the trader. He had
served as a packer and sometimes as an outsman, going
beyond Southgate to help with the gear and goods of
trading parties bound for Barter or some other gathering
place of merchants. Chane had made the journey to Bar-
ter himself once. He had met elves and humans, gnomes
and kender. He had seen the rising and setting of the sun,
had seen the moons in the night sky, had felt the vastness
of outside, a world not contained beneath mountains.
Back in Thorbardin, full of worldliness and wonder,
Chane had walked as tall as any dwarf for the first time
in his life. And it had been then that he'd met Jilian. Jilian
Firestoke. His eyes grew moist now, remembering how
she had made his heart melt... and how he had worked
to win her affections. He had known from the first that
her father despised him, but that hadn't seemed impor-
tant. Jilian knew her own mind, and what Slag Firestoke
thought about anything didn't seem to matter....
Until the dream had come again, this time with ur-
gency. This time the dream had spoken to him of destiny,
and he couldn't help but believe it.
And old Firestoke had used the opportunity to teach
Chane who he truly was - a lowly foundling who had
reached beyond his grasp
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