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The hill dwarves couldn't backtrack and they couldn't
outrun the wagon. They had to hide! But where? Flint tore
his gaze from his feet and spotted some aspen branches
hanging over the stream from the right side of the tiny bank.
They would just have to duck low and hope the branches
' covered them.
Quickly he slogged the ten feet to the branches, waving
Basalt to follow. Flint instinctively held his breath before
dropping to his knees on the rocky stream bed, letting the
cold mountain water lap at his shoulders and tear at his jan-
gled nerve endings till he thought he could endure it no
more. He felt Basalt stiffen at his side.
Hurry, damn you! he screamed inwardly at the approach-
ing wagon. Oh, how I wish I were on that dry wagon and
the derro were in this wretched water, thought Flint. That
image gave him an idea.
"Bas," he whispered, no louder than a breath, "Wait for
me in the brush back where the road turns to river. Two
days, no more. Then go home."
"What? I'm going with you!" Basalt hissed quickly, then
he saw the determined look on his uncle's gray-bearded
face
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