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V. Conclusion
Spared again, as the waters of the cell begin to recede
(could it, perhaps, be Raistlin's taunting, toying with me
over the years and the miles, over Reorx knows what
boundaries, for a comment made only in jest? If so, I am
properly instructed, and beg forgiveness. Or could it all
have been an illusion of light and onyx, a damaged memory
from a damaged childhood?).
True to his premonitions, the poet fell from the story. In
the interest of truth, I have returned him. For this service I
ask only a small reward: that my name shall be remembered
as his, and that the day shall come when pseudonyms are
things of the past, and those who were truly at the heart of
the story shall be remembered and revered, their names
echoed throughout the upper world, through helmets in the
vallenwoods, through the memories of all decent folk,
gnomish or otherwise, and finally, that something can be
done about these faucets. These things I ask for, and also
that a sizeable sum of money be sent to the address I
enclose with the manuscript, for I have more to say, and to
adopt the common misreading of line 95 of the "Song,"
Nor can we tell WHOM the story will gather.
Dagger-Flight
NICK O'DONOHOE
I
It woke in warm darkness
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