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"If the skin of 'is face be the same as the skin of 'is
hand, no wonder he hides himself," Slegart reflected,
wishing he had turned this strange, sick mage away -
money or no money.
The warrior took the leaves from the mage and dropped
them in a cup. He then filled it with hot water.
Curious in spite of himself, the innkeeper leaned over
to catch a glimpse of the mixture, hoping it might be a
magic potion of some sort. To his disappointment, it
appeared to be nothing more than tea with a few leaves
floating on the surface. A bitter smell rose to his nostrils.
Sniffing, he started to make some comment when the door
blew open, admitting more snow, more wind, and another
guest. Motioning one of the slatternly barmaids to finish
waiting on the mage and his brother, Slegart turned to greet
the new arrival.
It appeared - from its graceful walk and its tall, slender
build - to be either a young human male, a human female,
or an elf. But so bundled and muffled in clothes was the
figure that it was impossible to tell sex or race.
"We're full up," Slegart started to announce, but before
he could even open his mouth, the guest had drifted over to
him (it was impossible for him to describe its walk any
other way) and, leaning out a hand remarkable for its
delicate beauty, laid two steel coins in the innkeeper's hand
(remarkable only for its dirt)
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