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.
For a few seconds, the listeners made no response. The man
and woman looked at each other and then at the kender.
"Merciful gods, Tasslehoff," the woman breathed, pushing her
chair back. "You could make a goblin believe rocks were
valuable." She rose to her feet, tossed a few coins on the tabletop,
and waved at kender and warrior. "I think I'll go on to bed with
that one."
Sturm groaned in mild embarrassment. Granted, the kender's
tale was fantastic, but there was no need to rub his nose in it. He
turned back to Tasslehoff with a self-conscious grin, meaning to
apologize, and stopped.
Tasslehoff was looking after Kitiara with a strange, wistful
gaze. His left hand rested on the tabletop beside the half-melted
candle. A pale band was visible around his ring finger, wider than
most rings would leave. The skin on either side of the band was
scarred and discolored, as if someone had tried to remove a ring
once worn there.
Tasslehoff turned to Sturm, missing his gaze, and shrugged.
"Well," he said, "maybe it wasn't much of a tale at that. It's about
time to turn in, after all." He smiled and pushed his chair back.
"See you tomorrow."
Sturm half-waved his hand. The kender left him alone in the
inn with his thoughts.
Dreams of Darkness, Dreams of Light
Warren B. Smith
William Sweetwater was a short man - five-foot-three,
one hundred and eighty pounds, pig-faced, snout-nosed-
and he was lost in a universe of nightmares
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