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Tanis said nothing, did not want to speculate at all now.
Raistlin it was who spoke, and when he moved his shadow
fell between Flint and the mark.
"The blood is fresh, Flint, not a day old. He's still
alive." The young mage looked from one of his friends to
the other. "And, by the look of this, hoping that we're on his
trail. We'd best waste no time in wondering now."
Tanis did wonder: He wondered if they were too late.
The sound of the waterfall might have been the angry
roar of some outraged god. Racing and tumbling, the river
threw itself from the cliff nearly two hundred feet above
and slid in foaming white sheets only to vanish a third of
the way down. Then, like some conjurer's trick, the falling
river reappeared from a spout after twenty-five feet of
sheer, burnished cliff face and finished its headlong dash
into the narrow lake.
The mist was as thick as rain on the shore and as
drenching. Though Keli and Tas were tied to the base of a
thin spire of rock, all the thirst and heat of the day seemed
to vanish beneath the soothing kiss of the vapor.
Keli sidled as close to Tas as he could. He sent a quick
glance over his shoulder, assured himself that Tigo and
Staag were well occupied refilling their water flasks, and let
a long, gusty breath speak of the almost solemn wonder that
filled him at the sight of this wild and glorious falls
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