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. Instead, a
small, pretty girl, her hair the color of the wren's brown
feathers, rested her hand on the cage.
"One more," she said, "And this, perhaps, the most
important."
THE PANTHER, OF COURSE, the squirrel thought. HE
LOOKS FIERCE ENOUGH TO EAT THE MAGE FOR
DINNER AND STILL COME AWAY HUNGRY. THEY'LL
CHANGE THE PANTHER NEXT.
But to the squirrel's surprise, the panther remained a
panther, rumbling and growling deep inside his broad chest.
The girl leaned over his own cage and undid the latch. She
gathered him carefully into her hands and lifted him out.
No more cage I As though he hadn't breathed in days, the
squirrel drew in a lungful of air and leaped from the girl's
hands. He could smell the sweet night air. He could taste it,
and it tasted like freedom.
The girl cried out, the dark-haired young man shouted
something, and the half-elf leaped to kick the door shut.
But squirrels can make themselves very small. Sucking in
all the air that he could, the squirrel dashed between the
closing door and the jamb and plunged into the night. He'd
had enough of men and beasts and cages. He wanted trees,
cozy nests, and sweet caches of chestnuts. And he was
going to have those now, no matter what they shouted
inside
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