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"Raist," Caramon whispered gently. "Raist. Wake up!"
Raistlin's eyes opened wide. Starting up, he looked
around. "Where is - " he began.
"Where is who? What?" Caramon cried in alarm.
Backing up, his hand on the hilt of his sword, he looked
frantically around the small cave. "I knew - "
"is . . . is - " Raistlin stopped, frowning.
"No one, I guess," the mage said softly, his hand going
to his head. He felt dizzy. "Relax, my brother," he snapped
irritably, glancing up at Caramon. "There is no one here but
us."
"But . . . this fire . . ." Caramon said, eyeing the blaze
suspiciously. "Who - "
"My own work," Raistlin replied. "After you ran off
and left me, what else could I do? Help me to my feet."
Stretching out his frail hand, the mage caught hold of his
brother's strong one and slowly rose up out of the pile of
blankets on the stone floor.
"I didn't know you could do anything like that!"
Caramon said, staring at the fire whose fuel was rock.
"There is much about me you do not know, my
brother," Raistlin returned. Wrapping himself up warmly in
his cloak, he watched as Caramon hurriedly repacked the
blankets.
"They're still a little damp," the big man muttered
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