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"Leave me in peace, Caramon!" Slegart heard the mage
gasp as the innkeeper came to the table, bearing the ale and
a pot of hot water on a tray. "Your worrying will put me in
my grave sooner than this cough!"
The warrior, Caramon, did not answer, but sat down in
the booth opposite his brother, his eyes still shadowed with
unhappiness and concern.
Setting down the tray, Slegart tried his best to see the
face covered by the hood, but the mage was huddled near
the fire, the red cowl pulled low over his eyes. The mage
did not even look up as the innkeeper laid the table with an
unusual amount of clattering of plates and knives and mugs.
The young man simply reached into a pouch he wore tied to
his belt and, taking a handful of leaves, handed them
carefully to his brother.
"Fix my drink," the mage ordered in a rasping voice,
leaning wearily against the wall.
Slegart, watching all this intently, was considerably
startled to note that the skin that covered the mage's slender
hand gleamed a bright, metallic gold in the firelight!
The innkeeper tried for another glimpse of the mage's
face, but the young man drew back even farther into the
shadows, ducking his head and pulling the cowl lower over
his eyes
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