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"Strangely pleasant little fellow," Flint commented.
"Probably went to get an escort for us."
'What was that 'king and queen' stuff?" Perian asked,
staring after the gully dwarf.
Flint shrugged. "I don't know, probably Mudhole's hon-
orary title for guests." Perian nodded absently.
As they waited for Nomscul to return, Flint circled the
room, looking into corners, picking up and examining little
bits of gully dwarf treasure. He handed Perian a dirty,
broken-toothed tortoise shell comb.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, the frawl dragged the
comb's six remaining teeth through her matted hair.
"Ouch!" she snarled after one particularly stubborn rat's
nest. "I can't wait until I get out of these mud-caked
clothes - I can barely bend my knees in these pants!"
Flint raised his eyebrows as a thought struck him. "Say,
where do you think you'll be heading when we get out of
here?"
"Home, of course," Perian said quickly, picking the dried
mud from her pants. 'What a question. Where else... 7"
Abruptly she stopped, sucked in her breath, and clapped a
hand to her mouth
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