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There had been many brothers and sisters. . . .
The feeder felt a rush of warmth from hilt to blade.
There would be many again. It was time to seek a host.
Soon the race of feeders would darken the sky.
Suddenly from the shoreline came cries and the twang of
bows. The feeder rose, its eyes blood-bright, and flew
straight for the noise, gaining height for another dive.
On the shore were goblins, shouting and shooting
arrows. The feeder ignored them, moving over the boat and
its occupants. The kender, crouched at the oars, was too
well covered by the others, and Flint was struggling in the
water. The feeder hovered, waiting for a sure target.
"That does it!" The large one, the deep voice the feeder
had heard before, pulled the dwarf halfway into the boat.
Flint hung onto a seat, but his lower half was sticking out
over the edge of the boat, unprotected.
A vague memory surfaced in the feeder: inside the biped's
legs was a large, rich artery that could empty a body in
moments. The feeder, not hesitating as a human might
have for an enemy in such a vulnerable position, zeroed in,
plummeted, blade flashing in the starlight.
At the last moment the one dressed as a knight grabbed
the dwarf by the belt and dragged him aboard as the boat
rocked wildly
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