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. It never seemed to find a tune, never seemed to
settle into anything he recognized as even remotely
resembling music.
"Tas!" he snapped. "If you're bound to fuss with that
wretched thing, can't you at least find a tune and play it?"
The piping stopped abruptly. Tas got to his feet and
joined Flint near the door. "I would if I could. But this is the
best I can do."
Before Flint could protest, Tas began to play again. The
awful screech rose in pitch, splintering his temper, never
very strong where Tas was concerned, into shards as sharp
and hard as needles of ice.
"Enough!" he snatched the pipe from Tas's hand. But
before he could fling it across the shelter, the kender leaped
up and caught it back handily.
"No, Flint! My magic pipe!"
"Magic! Don't tell me you're going to start that again.
There's no more magic than music in that thing."
"But there is, Flint. The shepherd told me that I'd find
the magic when I found the music. And I'd find the music
when I wanted it most. I really do want it now, but I don't
seem to be able to find it."
Flint had heard the story before. Though the
circumstances and some finer details varied from one
telling to the next, the core of the tale was always the same:
a shepherd had given Tas the pipe, swearing that it was
enchanted
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