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. After considering his empty larder, Flint decided that
it was time to see if his ale order was in at the greengrocer's.
He was going to have to leave the comfort of his home and
fire for only the third time in the month since his friends had
left the treetop village of Solace.
The dwarf and his companions - Tanis Half-Elven, Tas-
slehoff Burrfoot, Caramon and Raistlin Majere, Kitiara
Uth-Matar, and Sturm Brightblade - had parted ways to
discover what they could of the rumors concerning the true
clerics, agreeing to meet again in exactly five years. Flint
had spent much of his time in the last few years adventuring
with his much younger friends or traveling to fairs to sell his
metalsmithing and woodcarvings. Truly he missed them,
now that they were gone. But the truth of the matter was, at
one hundred forty years, the middle-aged dwarf was just
plain tired. So, being reclusive by nature, he had stayed at
home and done little more than eat, drink, sleep, stoke the
fire, and whittle in the month since their departure.
Flint's stomach rumbled. Patting the noisy complainer, he
reluctantly eased his bulk from his overstuffed chair near
the fire, brushing wood shavings from his lap as he stood
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