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"Mages invited us ... I don't trust 'em." Caramon scowled.
Raistlin glanced at him. "Does that include me, dear brother?"
he asked softly.
Caramon did not reply.
Although twins, the two brothers could not have been more
different. Raistlin, frail and sickly magician and scholar, pondered
this difference frequently. They were one whole man split in two:
Caramon the body, Raistlin the mind. As such, the two needed and
depended on each other far more than other brothers. But, in some
ways, it was an unwholesome dependence, for it was as if each
was incomplete without the other. At least, this was how it seemed
to Raistlin. He bitterly resented whatever gods had played such a
trick that cursed him with a weak body when he longed for
mastery over others. He was thankful that, at least, he had been
granted the skills of a magician. It gave him the power he craved.
These skills almost made him the equal of his brother.
Caramon-strong and muscular, a born fighter- always
laughed heartily whenever Raistlin discussed their differences.
Caramon enjoyed being his "little" brother's protector. But,
although he was very fond of Raistlin, Caramon pitied his weaker
twin. Unfortunately, Caramon had a tendency to express his broth-
erly concern in unthoughtful ways. He often let his pity show, not
realizing it was like a knife twisting in his brother's soul.
Caramon admired his brother's skill as a magician as one
admires a festival juggler
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