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And the kender did most of the hunting and cooking,
too.
The goblin stamped around some more.
Maybe the minotaur could be bargained with. The goblin
had no illusions about whether or not the minotaur would
be a grateful and friendly ally, but even a brute like that
would see the value in having two lesser beings tend to its
wounds and hunt for it. And having a monster like that
around might not be a bad idea, if it could be managed.
Minotaurs were as savage and brutal as could be imagined.
They were damn strong, mightier than humans. They hated
humans more than they hated any other being, and they
hated the slave-taking, holier-than-all Istarians most.
The goblin cursed himself for believing this would
work. The kender was infecting his brain. He should just
kill both the kender and the minotaur and let them rot.
But the kender did almost all the hunting and cooking.
The goblin sullenly picked up his weapons again and
left the cave. Life wasn't fair. He hated that.
The tired kender looked up, knee deep in the water
alongside the minotaur, and a grin broke out on his face. "I
knew you'd help," he said with relief.
They made a crude sledge before nightfall, roping two
long rough poles together with a ragged length of hemp that
the kender recovered from disassembling an animal snare
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