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. Flint's concern grew as several
more minutes passed.
Full darkness had settled, giving the late autumn wind a
sharper bite, yet there was still no sign of Fester and the
Creeping Wedgies. Flint peered fruitlessly into the darkness,
seeking any sign of movement, but all he saw was the frigid
expanse of blowing, drifting snow. There was no denying
the fact, now: Fester and the Wedgies were lost, or even
dead, buried in the snowfall.
Flint thought about backtracking, but he sensed that the
task would be futile. Instead, he turned and plowed his way
through the snow toward the grove. He would have to in-
form Perian of the grave news that before they had even met
the enemy their army had been tragically reduced by a
third.
Only with difficulty did he locate the copse of trees, so
completely did the weather cloak them. Finally he stumbled
into a small clearing, surrounded by dense pines, giving the
area shelter.
Perian sat atop a snow-covered log near a small, unfrozen
pool of water. "Where's Fester and the Wedgies?" she asked
at once, noting the look of concern on Flint's face
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