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. Basalt. Flint slowly looked up.
His nephew loomed, glaring at him with a humorless half
smile on his red-bearded jaw. "It's a bit early for drink, isn't
it?" Hint asked, wishing he could bite his tongue off the sec-
ond the patronizing words left his mouth.
Basalt eyed Flint's own mug. "That's not milk you're
drinking, either."
Flint set down his tools and sighed, swallowing the irrita-
tion he felt because of his ruined good mood. "Look, pup,
I've always had a soft spot for you." Flint eyed him squarely
now. "But if you keep using that tone of voice with me, I'm
going to forget you're family."
Basalt shrugged, taking an empty chair near his uncle's. "I
thought you already had."
Flint had never struck someone for telling the truth, and
he was not of a mind to start now. Instead, he grabbed Ba-
salt by the shoulders and shook him, hard.
"Look, I feel terrible about your father," he began, search-
ing his nephew's freckled face. "I'm not one for wishing, but
I'd give anything to have been here, anything to have
known. But I wasn't and I didn't, and that's what is, Bas."
Trying hard to look unperturbed, Basalt rolled his eyes in
disbelief and looked away
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