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. Although the beast was
more than twice Flint's height, the dwarf stood above him in
the steep ravine. Flint had the initiative, striking, dodging,
and striking again.
Once more his advantage proved illusory. The troll
dodged away from him while it held the oozing stump of its
hand. Not the squeamish type, even Flint was repulsed as
three tiny claws sprouted from the bloody wound with a
loud popping sound. He heard the green skin stretch, and
the claws grew impossibly fast, revealing fingers and then,
in moments, a completely new taloned hand. Fully re-
grown, the creature made a gurgling-regurgitating sound in
the back of its throat - Flint swore it was snickering - and
then the troll crept toward the hill dwarf.
Flint scrambled backward up the steep chute, struggling
to keep his balance in the loose rock. A fall would slide him,
helpless, into the slashing maelstrom of tooth and claw
below.
"Uncle Flint!" cried Basalt.
Flint did not even stop to see where Basalt was. "This is no
picnic, Basalt! Run, you hare-brained numbskull!" If the
troll turned on his inexperienced nephew, the boy would be
devoured before he could raise his blade
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