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. "A wren?"
A little breeze sighed, then wandered away.
Yet when she opened her eyes and saw the small
carving, Wren wore a small, puzzled frown. "But. . . it
FELT like a wren. I don't understand."
Neither did Tanis. Nor did Flint. It was Tas, finally, who
spoke.
"Flint! That's wonderful! That's the nicest miniature I've
ever seen! When did you carve it?"
"I didn't," Flint said shortly. "I had nothing to do with
this piece." He peered hard at the little carving and shook
his head. It was Wren in every perfect detail, her soft hair
pulled back low on her neck as it was now, her serene smile
shown in lips and eyes, her hands quietly folded at her
waist.
Flint shivered and looked across the room. Though he
could not be sure, he thought he saw Raistlin smile from the
hearth's shadow.
"Wanna Bet?"
Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman
Foreword
(or Afterword, as the case may be)
"A fine mage you are little brother," muttered Tanin,
standing on the dock, watching the ship sail away. "You
should have known all along there was something strange
about that dwarf!"
"Me?" Palin retorted. "YOU were the one that got us
mixed up in the whole thing to begin with! 'Adventures
always start in such places as this', " the young magic-user
said, mimicking his older brother's voice
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