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"Let go of me - I mean, you can let go of me now, Bas," he
finished more calmly, twisting his damp tunic back into
place. He had one goal now that overshadowed all others:
he wanted only to get to the end of this stream-road as
quickly as possible without falling. And if he should fall, he
prayed that Reorx would take him quickly.
Flint set off slowly, concentrating so intently on his feet
that his head began to ache with the strain. His toes were
numb, as were his legs beneath his soaked leather pants.
Sharp rocks jabbed at the souls of his feet through his boots.
They had progressed perhaps one hundred feet upstream
when Flint heard the sound, though at first he thought it was
only the blood banging through his temples. No, he de-
cided, it sounds like wagon wheels. But why would a wagon
be coming through now? It was only early evening, just
heading toward dusk. The hill dwarf held up a hand to warn
Basalt, and he concentrated on the approaching noise. It
was coming from behind them, he determined, probably an
empty wagon returning after a run through Hillhome to
Newsea
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