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. It was a puzzle to
him.
Flint had walked nearly a full day before his keen dwar-
ven senses raised the hair on the back of his neck; someone
or something was following him. He wasn't terribly sur-
prised, since he had expected to be pursued. Still whomever
it was seemed in no hurry to catch him, nor even to be con-
cerned about being detected. Once he even caught sight of a
distant figure trudging through the grassy vale which Flint
had passed through a short time earlier.
Flint continued to look behind him at regular intervals,
but never again spotted the figure. Could it have been some
hill farmer, going about his business? Flint had been too far
away to distinguish if the figure was a human or a dwarf.
Still, his trail sense nagged him, warning him to stay on
guard.
His second afternoon out of Hillhome was damp and
cold. Flint stopped to rest at the crest of a rocky ridge, and
to eat the last of the cold meat sandwiches, rock cheese, and
dried apples Bertina had slipped into his hands as he'd left
the family house. Shoulders of bare granite loomed around
him, and several caves dotted the side of this steep slope
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