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. He once
climbed a dead tree by moonlight, and he told the funniest
story about speaking to the ghost of the grandmother that
never respected him. His name was Ralf. He was on his way
to see his mother, he said." The kender added thoughtfully,
"She must like jewelry; he had lots of little gifts for her, and
he kept mixing up her name. Said he had a powder to feed
Gwendol, then Genna, then Gerria-"
"A mage?" Otik was uneasy near magic.
"Oh, no." Moonwick shook his head violently. "Just a
charm vendor: potions, powders, elixirs, amulets- nothing
serious. Why, this is probably quite harmless." He held the
bag toward Otik. "Probably the poor man will be here any
day, looking for this. Would you take-"
"No"
"Just overnight; surely you're not-"
"No."
"What possible harm could there be-"
"I have no idea what harm there could be," Otik said
firmly. "I don't intend to find out. I keep away from magic."
The kender looked pityingly. "You miss a lot of ex-
citement that way."
"Long ago I took a vow. I'm devoting my life to missing
a lot of excitement."
"All right, then." Moonwick bounced the bag on his
palm. "I'll return it myself. Someday."
"Good of you. In the meantime, I'm sorry you don't need
a meal. Why don't you take-" With a quick wrist
movement, Otik caught Moonwick's arm as it flashed across
the bar-"a mug of ale, for your throat."
"Good idea." The kender grabbed a mug
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