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. He was spared the need for any
retort when the door to the inn swung slowly open.
"Caramon, I think you'd better find your brother."
Sturm's was not the voice to which Caramon responded.
He heard, and from the comer of his eye he could see that
Flint had, too, the small piping of the wren. She rode
Sturm's wrist with serene confidence. The late morning
light glinted along a chain of tiny gold links around her
neck.
HELP! OH! HELP!
All the morning's trial of disbelief was worth that one
moment, Caramon thought as he bolted for the door, worth
that one, stunned look on the old dwarf's face. Laughing, he
clattered down the wooden steps from the inn built high in
the mighty vallenwood to the bridgewalks.
Around the town women looked up from their washing
and baking, merchants abandoned their customers to run to
windows, and children came flying from their games, all
wondering what it was that caused the big youth's
bellowing summons of his brother and his friend Tanis
Half-Elven.
When the squirrel awoke he was confused. He slept a lot, it
being still winter and he having some deeply rooted NEED
to sleep. But when he slept he dreamed. And there was the
source of his confusion: no squirrel ever dreamed during
long winter sleeps
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