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. It may be the
moon, or something in the air, but we'd best make this bunch
sleepy just as quickly as possi- ^ ble." Tika, clearly upset by the
goings-on around her, nodded and fairly sprinted toward the bar
and the new casks.
In the center of the room, Patrig hopped clumsily onto the
common table. He had a slopping tankard in hand, and waved it
dangerously over people's heads. They clapped and ducked,
stealing kisses from each other as they nearly bumped heads.
Sareh stopped embracing her husband long enough to say, "Patrig,
get down; you could get hurt."
He ignored his mother, spread his arms, and sang passionately
but with little tune:
NO ONE CAN LOVE-
QUITE LIKE MY LOVE-
BECAUSE HER LOVE-
IS ALL I LOVE-
He coughed and added,
AND IN HER LOVE-
I FIND MY LOVE-
AND THEN HER LOVE-
IS JUST LIKE LOVE-
He went on for twenty lines, sipping ale after each line. Otik
felt the boy was getting undue applause for his efforts; apparently,
his theme had a lot of appeal tonight. Loriel, Tika's young rival,
was gaping up at Patrig as though she was seeing the full moon for
the first time. Her own mug was empty. Rian, of the seven gray
hairs, was temporarily forgotten.
Finally, too excited to sing, Patrig threw up his arms, shouted,
"Love, love, live," and crashed off the table. Otik made sure he
wasn't hurt or dead, then ran to a corner table where two drovers,
swearing fealty to each other, were strangling a stranger
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