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. The dazed warrior spat dust and struggled to
catch his breath. Then he slowly rose and, still quite bleary-
eyed, looked around.
He was facing a small, crumbling black shack. It had no
windows, just a crooked black door. A walkway of broken
stones led from the path to the door. Tall weeds filled a
garden to the left, and strange, twisted vegetables grew on
the other side. Gorath thought the shack deserted until he
noticed that thick black smoke curled upward from a
crooked chimney on the dilapidated roof. Suddenly it blew
in Gorath's direction, carrying with it a ghastly aroma.
Gorath's stomach became queasy. He could have sworn
someone was cooking a stew consisting of spoiled meat
and rotten vegetables.
Gorath prided himself on his bravery, but his instincts
urged him to get away at once. Without understanding
why, Gorath walked briskly past the house and farther
down the path. But he didn't get very far. An angry gust of
wind grabbed him, spun him around, and hurled him
through the air toward the house, causing him to crash into
the door and bounce off with a loud thud.
Again, the wind quickly subsided. The large man
staggered to his feet, rubbing his bull neck and bruised left
arm
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