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. At least
he had some food left in the sack Flint had passed to him. He
opened the sack now, finding one ripe red apple, a dry but-
ter sandwich, and a roasted goose drumstick. He gnawed on
the succulent leg while he pondered what to do.
Shivering, Basalt wondered when his uncle might
emerge. The moon rose, and still there was no sign. The sky
above him was velvet black and starry, and the air bitterly
cold. The mountains rose so steeply that he could not even
look forward to daylight warming this place. The young
Fireforge clapped his hands to his arms and trotted in place
to keep his blood moving.
Basalt knew he should have left for Hillhome before dark,
for he had passed the two-day limit his uncle had set. If I
wait just one more hour, he kept telling himself, maybe Flint
will return. But Basalt grew more anxious by the minute.
Again he looked down the stream at the tunnel mouth.
From it he thought he heard the sound of a wagon
approaching - it was about time for one to leave for
Hillhome - but the noise grew louder and unfamiliar. Puz-
zled, Basalt cocked his head to listen closely
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