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. Despite Otik's protest-"I'm
sorry, there seems to be something wrong with the ale"-the
stranger methodically rolled out every last cask. The Inn guests
cheered, looking up briefly from their loving and fighting. And the
ale continued to pour.
After that, things became confused. The drovers had
started several small fights, wandering off and losing
interest between drinking rounds, then embracing each
other passionately before starting up again. Patrig and
Loriel were dancing in the middle of the room. Patrig's
mother and father were kissing against the tree trunk. Hillae
had disappeared somewhere, and Reger was riding Farmer
Mort horseback in circles around the room. Their whoops
and cries were indistinguishable from whatever was going
on over there, and there, in the shadows.
Tika said, "Can ale do all that?" She looked interest-ediy
at the mug on her tray. "Otik, what if I-"
"No."
"But it looks like so much-"
"No. It looks like too much, that's what it does." Otik
pulled her away from a line of dancing old men and women.
"But if Loriel can-"
"No, no, and no. You're not Loriel." Otik made a de-
cision. "Here's your cloak. Wear it. Here's mine; sleep in it.
Find a place, go, and don't come back to the Inn tonight."
"But you can't manage without me."
Otik gestured at the room now frenzied with activity. "I
can't manage WITH you. Go."
"But where will I sleep?"
"Anywhere
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