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."
"Tracks?"
"None. But there is something else." Raistlin nodded
toward a small grouping of boulders. "Camp signs. Perhaps
you should see them."
Tanis moved as though to signal Flint to join them, but
the young mage shook his head. Fear, like a dark thread of
night, crawled through Tanis's belly.
The campfire had been small, ringed by rocks. Several
yards beyond them was a flat-sided boulder. On the near
side of the boulder, a handspan from the ground, was a
mark no larger than a kender's fist. Though it was rough-
sketched in blood, Tanis recognized the sign at once: a
stylized anvil bisected by a dwarven F rune. Flint's plate
mark.
"Tas?"
"Who else would leave that mark?" Raistlin touched the
rusty brown blood. "It was fresh not long ago."
Both turned at the sound of an approach. Flint stood at
Tanis's elbow.
"Wretched kender!" The old dwarf clenched his fist.
"Vanishing out from under our noses and getting himself
into Reorx only knows what kind of trouble!" He stared for
a long time at the device which had always marked his best
and most beautiful work, sketched now in dark blood on the
stone. It was as though he'd never seen the mark before and
sought now to memorize it
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