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. Say, what's that smell?" His nose
wrinkled.
"Dirt, mostly," Jarek said.
The Wolf brothers scowled. "It's a perfectly natural
smell," Graym said. "Strong, but natural." He smiled down
at the kender. "My name's Graym."
The kender smiled back. "Tarli Half-kender. Half man,
half kender."
Graym looked startled, then shrugged. "Well, I'm
liberal-minded."
He offered his hand, taking care to keep his pack and
pockets out of reach. But at a shout from Jarek, Graym
whipped his head around.
"Here now! Off the cart. Mind the barrels." His
knapsack fell from the stick.
Tarli caught the pack nimbly, flipped it over once in his
deft fingers, and passed it to Graym, who was surprised that
a kender would return anything. "Thank you," he said to
Tarli, but his mind was on the kender falling and climbing
all over the cart. The barrels, three times their size, wobbled
dangerously. "Don't they know they could be killed?"
Tarli looked puzzled. "I don't think it would make much
difference. Like I said, you can't worry about things like
that, like Skorm Bonelover, coming from the east."
"Who?" The name sounded vaguely familiar to
Graym's still-fuddled mind.
"Skorm," Tarli said helpfully, "the Fearmaker, the
Crusher of Joy."
"Oh, THAT Skorm. You know him, do you?"
"Only by reputation. Everyone's talking about him."
Tarli looked to the east. "Well, we'd better keep going if we
want to meet up with him." He put two fingers into his
mouth and whistled.
The crowd of kender scrambled off the cart and
scampered down the road again, pulling the travois behind
them
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