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."
The brawny youth was not noted for his patience or for
any great skill at cunning or strategy in matters other than
martial. But his instincts were often good, and they served
him well now. He took a long breath, clamped his teeth
down on the loud protest he'd meant to make, and poured
another cup of ale. He looked around the deserted inn,
heard only Otik in the kitchen, and sighed heavily.
"Flint, listen," he said in what he hoped was a calm and
reasoning manner. "I was the first to laugh at Tas. I was still
laughing at him last night. I'm not laughing this morning,
because I heard the wren."
"The gods know," Flint muttered, "I will be more than
glad when winter is over. You youngsters are like colts
chasing the wind these days; you hear the call to run in
every stray breeze."
"Flint, the bird was asking for help. That's what Tas said,
and off he went. He's been gone for three days. And now
the bird is back."
"And you can tell one wren from another, can you?"
Caramon could not keep the mischief from his grin. "When
they speak, I can."
"Hah! You're starting to sound like your brother now."
That stopped the young man short, left him wondering to
what he must reply now: Flint's implied insult (though he
wasn't quite certain that he HAD been insulted), or the
dwarf's still patent disbelief
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