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. . . .
"Come BACK here, you stone-headed kender!"
Halfway up the closest tree the squirrel stopped, frozen
by the dwarf's cry. Not crazy, he'd told Pytr, but stone-
headed. Stone-headed . . . something. Stone-headed
kender! Kender?
Something strange happened to the cold night air. It
shivered, the way it does under summer's heat, and then it
sighed, the sound of a small drifting breeze. The squirrel
tried to breathe but found that he couldn't quite draw in the
air he needed. Suddenly he lost his grip and tumbled to the
ground.
Kender!
"And where, in the names of all the gods, did you think
you were going?"
"I - " Tas got his legs under him and climbed to his feet.
Some of the squirrel feeling was in him yet. He had to
swallow hard to ignore the imperative to run from the
dwarf. "I - don't know. I don't even really know how I got
here, wherever here is. I was following the wren, I think,
and . . . well, then I was here, falling out of this tree. But I
think I remember some dreams . . . strange ones, about
squirrels and cats and - "
Flint snorted and pulled the kender to his feet. For all his
scowling, though, his hands were gentle. "Come on, now,
back inside. You can be sure Caramon is getting hungry by
now
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