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My line splashed into the red water, trailing behind the boat as
we moved farther out to sea. I closed my eyes, enjoying the steady,
rhythmic movement of the old man's rowing.
This is a good way to live, I thought. Someone to row for me,
and dinner just waiting to be caught. But then, as always, I started
dreaming of more: I'd have a whole fleet of fishing boats with
scores of old men bringing in a huge catch every day. I'd be
generous and give them ten percent of the profits. Then I stopped
and thought, no, I'd give them just two percent.
I smiled to myself and sighed with satisfaction.
I'd be known as Duder, Captain of the Blood Sea. And I'd be
the richest elf in the world. The other elves would envy me. They
would be sorry they had treated me so badly. I had been expelled
from my homeland;
punished for a youthful indiscretion; shunned, made to travel all
alone-oh, how I hated being by myself. But when the elves
needed my fish, needed my money, needed my power and
influence .. . they'd come to me then and say, "Duder Basillart,
we're sorry. Come home." And I would just grin and tell them-
"Ouch!" The fishing line was nearly torn out of my hands. My
eyes opened wide as I clutched at the line, thinking that though my
reverie had come to an end, my dinner was just about to begin.
"Looks like you've got something big," said the old man as he
watched me pull on the line.
"I told you I'd be good to have along," I boasted
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