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. "You'll feel better once
we get inside," he called back. "It's not much warmer there,
but it is drier. And I've been thinking about my magic pipe
while I was out looking for the wolves. I think I'd be able to
find the music if I tried just a little harder."
Oh, fine, Flint thought, trudging stiffly behind, the
dreaded pipe! It wasn't enough that he had to contend with
blizzards and promises to people who haven't the sense to
come in out of a storm, with brainless kender and wolves.
No. On top of all of that had to be laid a "magic" pipe.
When he stumbled, shaking and wet, into the shelter he
saw Tas sitting crosslegged and absent-eyed, hunched over
his pipe. The high, tortured wailing that had tormented Flint
all afternoon filled the air, rising almost loud enough to
compete with the wind and the wolves' howls.
"The dreaded pipe," he sighed.
He returned to his task of coaxing a fire from the broken
boards and fine, smooth blocks of his whittling wood. It
would barely be enough to thaw his frozen clothing. It
would not be enough to light the lost back to safety.
Tanis negotiated the gently descending slope as though it
were a vertical cliff face, and slid to a ragged halt at the
bottom
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