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"We're full up," growled Slegart, with a significant
glance around the crowded common room. "Hunting moon
tonight ..."
"Bah!" The big warrior snorted. "There'll be no moon
tonight, hunting or otherwise. That storm's going to break
any moment now and, unless you're partial to hunting
snowflakes, you won't shoot anything this night." At this,
the big man glanced around the common room to see if any
cared to dispute his remark. Noting the size of his
shoulders, the well-worn scabbard he wore, and the
nonchalant way his hand went to the hilt of his sword, even
the rough-appearing humans began to nod their heads at his
wisdom, agreeing that there would definitely be no hunting
this night.
"At any rate," said the big man, returning his stem gaze
to Slegart, "we're spending the night here, if we have to
make up our beds by the fire. As you can see" - the warrior's
voice softened and his gaze went to the magic-user, who
had slumped down at a table as near the fire as possible -
"my brother is in no condition to travel farther this day,
especially in such weather."
Slegart's glance went to the mage and, indeed, the man
appeared to be on the verge of exhaustion. Dressed in red
robes, with a hood that covered his head and left his face in
shadow, the magic-user leaned upon a wooden staff
decorated at the top with a golden dragon's claw holding a
faceted crystal
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