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. "They aren't ... I mean ... kender,
they cause trouble, I know, but - "
The mail-armored man snorted good-naturedly. He
looked away at the distant bonfire in the center of the camp,
surrounded by the secure clutter of bedrolls. The dim
firelight was reflected in his polished steel breastplate.
"You're trying to tell me that kender aren't as bad as
goblins, right?"
The leather-armored man took a breath, thought better
of his answer, and said nothing.
"So you DO think kender aren't as bad as goblins." The
mail-armored man sighed. "You think we're doing wrong,
is that it? We're doing the will of the gods of good and the
Kingpriest of Istar, and it's wrong?"
"No." The man seemed badly frightened. The goblin
could barely hear the answer. "No, that's not it, Your
Reverence."
"Ah," the cleric said, the misunderstanding apparently
cleared up. "The captain said this was your first campaign.
I know it's hard, and everything seems confusing at times.
Maybe all the time, right?"
The other man looked at the ground and seemed to nod
in the affirmative, unwilling to speak.
The goblin's worst fear was eased. If the priest could read
minds, he wasn't doing it now. The goblin studied the
ground ahead of him, then reached into a side pocket and
pulled something out
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