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Frustrated, Flint stroked his beard while he thought. He
tested the flexibility of the sapling's trunk and decided that
its green wood might bend. Taking it firmly in his left hand,
he pushed it toward the ground until it was low enough for
him to step on. Counting to three, he launched himself off
the doubled-over tree, hearing it snap and tear just as his
hands closed around the top of the barrel and he was able to
pull himself up. With one more quick spring, he was atop
the stone wall. Flint dropped the seven feet to the ground,
landing alongside the barn and in six inches of mud with a
"splooch!"
"You leave now!"
Flint nearly jumped out of his boots, which were stuck
fast in the mud. He looked up in the late-afternoon light and
espied a big dwarf standing a few paces away. His face was a
mask of fear, and he appeared to be dragging a sack full of
black coal.
"Garth!" Flint hissed, both relieved and dismayed. He
tried to wrestle his booted feet from the mud, but the boots
would not budge. He stopped struggling and looked up at
Garth pleadingly.
"Leave me alone!" Garth said fearfully, turning away
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