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. She had none to talk and so,
though Caramon wondered and Sturm speculated, Tanis
and Raistlin agreed that greater detail must be garnered
later when Wren had recouped her strength. Flint neither
speculated nor wondered. He feared. And, since he did not
like to show it, he hid his fear behind a spate of grumbling
in which stone-headed kender played a large part. He
fooled no one.
They followed her through all of the snowy day and as
much of the night as they could. When camp was made,
Wren dropped again to her perch on Sturm's wrist. She was
comfortable there, sensing a steadiness and kindness in the
young man that gave her confidence. She only gripped him
lightly and tucked her head beneath her stippled wing as
though to rest.
"Wren," Sturm said gently. "Wren?"
She looked up, weary with flying and fear, and cocked
her head.
"What happened to the kender. Wren?"
THE SQUIRREL WAS UNHARMED WHEN I SAW HIM
LAST.
Sturm frowned, puzzled. They heard Wren's voice as a
bird's song with their ears, but in their minds they heard the
soft, gentle voice of a woman. This, at times, could be
confusing. But Sturm suddenly understood Wren's reply
when he heard Raistlin's dry, whispered laugh.
"What else?" the young mage asked
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