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. But he was wasting his time. Jilian had already
decided. Even when young males of the noble-blooded
Hylar clans stared after her in the market, with open
mouths and enchanted eyes, she was no more than
amused. In Chane Feldstone she saw something that no
one else seemed to see, but that didn't matter. She saw it,
and had no intention of letting him get away.
And she had told her father so, in no uncertain terms.
In that straightforward way of hers that always seemed
to infuriate him, Jilian had made it clear that she would,
by Reorx, decide for herself what male she wanted. And
she had, by Reorx, decided it was Chane Feldstone.
It wasn't that Chane was the most handsome young
dwarf she had seen - although his broad shoulders, his
somber, wide-set dark eyes, and the way his near-black
whiskers swept back in feral lines along each sloping
cheek reminded her of old pictures she had seen, paint-
ings of the fierce Hylar warriors of ancient times. It
wasn't that he was the most entertaining; at times, when
the mood was on him, Chane was nearly impossible to
talk to, and seemed to lose himself in dark, hidden
thoughts that he wouldn't - or couldn't - express.
He was, in fact, a waif.
Orphaned in some manner that left no clear record of
his lineage, Chane was a bit of an enigma to those whose
duty it was, or whose inclination it was, to keep track of
people in the dwarven realm
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