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. Yet every time he tried to roll the
squirming derro over the edge, the creature managed to
twist away.
Many hands pulled at Flint's arms and legs. Something
cracked against the back of his head, and Flint nearly
blacked out. In that moment he was dragged from Pitrick's
body and flung against the cavern wall, where two derro
stood over him with axes, ready to dismember him if he so
much as moved.
Pitrick flopped and writhed on the ground, gagging, his
jaw opening and closing wordlessly. At last he rolled over
onto his elbows and knees, massaging his throat. Two of the
guards bent to help him up, but the savant drove them away
with a livid snarl. He stayed like that for several minutes,
panting, reveling in the simple sensation of breathing, of
blood circulating.
Eventually Pitrick climbed unsteadily back to his feet,
bracing himself on the cavern wall. He wiped Flint's blood
from his neck with the sleeve of his battered bronze-colored
robe and nonchalantly examined the medallion hanging
there. At last Pitrick hobbled toward Flint, who was still
propped up against the cavern wall
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