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.
"I have nothing to say," Basalt said softly, sorrow, ale, and
anger making his eyes flash. "The subject bores me." With
that, he disappeared into the shadows that cloaked the
house beyond the firelight.
Bertina stood clutching her apron, looking with anguish
from Flint to where Basalt had retreated. "He doesn't mean
it, Flint," she said. "He's just not been the same since...
since... It's the drink talking." With a soft moan, she hur-
ried after her son.
Flint watched her go, then leaned back in his seat before
the fire, deep in morose reflection: A last bit of burning log
dropped through the fire grate and rolled forward; Flint
stood and jabbed it back into the fireplace with his toe, then
watched sparks fly, burning from red to gray, long into the
night.
* * * * *
Clumping through the cold room in his heavy farming
boots at first light, Ruberik brought Flint to his senses the
next morning. The older dwarf did not remember having
fallen asleep. Someone had covered him with a rough wool
blanket during the night, which tumbled to the ground as he
jumped up
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