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"I can help!" Basalt gasped, slipping on loose rock as he
scrambled closer. Now the troll did turn.
Powered by fear, Flint sprang forward, hacking the sharp
blade of his axe into the monster's back. The blow sent
sticky, gelatinous, pea-green blood showering onto Flint,
who gagged and spat furiously. Nearly cleaved in two, the
monster writhed away as best it could, hissing in pain and
rage, giving Basalt enough time to slip past it.
"Stay back!" shouted Flint to his nephew, then bounded
forward with another swing of his axe.
But Basalt had a mind of his own, and he delivered a
sharp jab with his short sword into the troll's belly. The
monster had begun to regenerate again, but the new blows
doubled it over, sending it twisting and rolling down the ra-
vine. Grinning proudly, his right arm covered in green
blood, Basalt prepared to leap after it.
"No!" ordered Flint, grasping his nephew's shoulder.
"You've got to learn when to retreat, harrn."
"But we've got the advantage now!" objected Basalt,
looking longingly down the ravine.
Flint jerked on Basalt's collar. "Only until it grows back
together
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