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. His uncle quickly
blocked the punch, landing a right jab of his own squarely
on Basalt's chin. The younger Fireforge's head jerked back,
his eyes bulged, and he slithered to the floor.
Basalt wiped his lip and discovered blood on the back of
his hand; he looked up at his uncle at the bar in astonish-
ment and shame. Flint turned back sourly to his mug, and in
a moment Basalt got to his feet and left the inn.
Flint dropped his care-worn face into his hands. He had
fought wolves and zombies, and they'd taken less of a toll
on him than the confrontations he'd endured in the last day.
The clamor of noise surrounded him; the smell of greasy,
unwashed bodies began to fill the tavern. These familiar
things seemed less comforting and enveloping than before.
Nothing about Hillhome seemed the same. He resolved at
that moment to make his hasty good-byes in the morning
and get back to the life he understood in Solace.
At that moment a party of pale blue-skinned derro
dwarves noisily entered Moldoon's. Turning his back to
them in disgust, Flint tried to ignore the bustle around him.
He knew no one in the tavern except Moldoon
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