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. He'd gamboled through
snow as high as his waist today, been hauled, laughing like
some gleeful snow sprite, out of drifts so deep that only the
pennon of his brown topknot marked the place where he'd
sunk. Still his brown eyes were alight with questions in a
face polished red by the bite of the wind.
"Tanis, there's no wood in the bins," he said. "Where do
they keep it?"
"In the bins - when it's here. There is none, Tas."
"None? What do you suppose happened to it? Do you
think the storm came up so suddenly that they didn't have a
chance to stock the bin? Or do you suppose they're not
stocking the shelters anymore? From the look of this place
no one's been here in a while. THAT would be a shame,
wouldn't it? It's going to be a long, cold night without a
fire."
"Aye," Flint growled. "Maybe not as long as you think."
Behind him Tanis heard Sturm draw a short, sharp
breath. If Tas had romped through the blizzard, Sturm had
forged through with all the earnest determination he could
muster. Each time Tas foundered, Sturm was right beside
Tanis to pull him out. His innate chivalry kept him always
ahead of Flint, blocking the wind's icy sting, breaking a
broader path than he might have for the old dwarf whose
muttering and grumbling would never become a plea for
assistance
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