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.
Somewhere.
The air was warm on his freckled cheeks. He opened his
eyes slowly, and before him stood his Uncle Ruberik's un-
smiling, astonished countenance. The wooden pails in Ru-
berik's hands clattered to the floor, creating a small puddle
of creamy white milk at his feet.
"What's the meaning of this? Where did you come from?
What happened to you? You've got some explaining to do,
you foolish young trickster!"
"Yes, Basalt," he heard his mother chime in from behind,
"besides this bit of nonsense, where have you been since,
well -" She coughed uncomfortably. "Where have you been
all night? Tybalt's been looking for you, not to mention the
rest of us have been worried."
Basalt had not moved since the moment of his arrival,
and now he stepped back toward the fireplace to get both of
them into view, Bertina in the kitchen, Ruberik at the door.
He saw in their faces their usual reaction to him - his uncle's
anger, his mother's distress - and he nearly lost his courage.
But he reminded himself that there was a good cause for his
strange behavior, one far too important to forsake
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