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. But he wouldn't tell the kender what the magical
property of the pipe was.
"You will discover its use," he'd supposedly said, "when
you unlock the music. And when it has served you, you
must pass it on, as I have to you, for the magic can be used
only once by each who frees it."
Like as not, Flint thought, the instrument had been
acquired the same way a kender comes by most anything. A
quick, plausible distraction, a subtle movement of the hand,
and a shepherd spends the next hour searching for his pipe.
He probably should have counted himself lucky that half
his flock hadn't vanished as well!
"There's no magic in this," Flint said. "More likely
there's a flaw in the making. Give over now, Tas, and let me
wait in peace."
With a sigh that seemed to come straight from his toes,
Tas went back to where he'd been piping. He dropped onto
the frozen dirt floor and propped his back up against his
pack. In his head he could hear the song he wanted his pipe
to sing. In some places it was soft and wistful. Yet, in
others it was bright, almost playful. It would be a pretty
tune, a song for the snow. Why, he wondered, couldn't the
pipe play the music?
The blizzard raged, shaking the walls of the little shelter
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