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. It
was Tas who found the dwarf, half-drowned and hysterical;
all four of his friends had to help drag him into the boat,
where he lay shivering, vowing to never set foot on water
again.
"Uncle Flint?"
"What? Oh, yes. I'm thinking!" he snapped. If he wanted
to avenge Aylmar, he had no choice but to venture into the
stream.
"Oh, all right!" he snarled at last, hitching up his belt,
willing his right foot to take a step into the stream. Only it
would not move.
"What's the matter, are you afraid of water?" Basalt asked
incredulously.
That did it. Setting his chin firmly, Flint clomped two
steps into the swiftly flowing stream, barely suppressing a
scream as melted mountain snow flowed over the tops of his
leather climbing boots. He bit his lip until it nearly bled.
Suddenly a strong eddy grabbed his legs and sent him slid-
ing off the uneven, slimy rocks under his feet.
"Whoa!" Basalt's strong arm reached out; he caught his
uncle by the collar and held tight before the dwarf fell face-
first into the frigid water. Flint's axe clattered against the
rocks on the narrow bank, and he nonchalantly wiped wa-
ter droplets from the weapon's shiny surface while he gath-
ered the courage to make another move
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