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. Dalamar's sin had been to take the Black Robes, to seek
power in dark magic. Bound hand and foot, his eyes blindfolded,
he had been driven in a cart to the borders of his homeland and
there thrown out, never more to be admitted. To an elf, whose
centuries-long lives are bound up in their beloved woods and
gardens, to be dismissed from the ancestral lands is worse than
death.
Dalamar appeared so cool and unfeeling about everything,
however, that Palin was surprised to see a look of wistful longing
and swift sorrow pass over the dark elf's face. It was gone as
quickly as a ripple over quiet water, but he had seen it nonetheless.
He felt less in awe of the dark elf. So something could touch him,
after all.
Sipping the wine, tasting the faint bitterness, Palin's thoughts went
to HIS home, the splendid house his father built with his own
hands, the inn that was his parent's pride and joy. He thought about
the town of Solace, nestled among the leaves of the great
vallenwood trees, a town he had left only to attend school as
must all young, aspiring magic-users. He thought of his
mother, of the two little sisters who were the bane of his
existence-stealing his pouches, trying to peek under his
robes, hiding his spellbooks. . . . What would it be like-
never seeing them again?
. . . never seeing them again . . .
Palin's hand began to tremble. Carefully, he set the
fragile glass down upon the table near his chair, fearing he
might drop it or spill his wine
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