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"Go on," the man said harshly to the ogre. "I gave you
one chance. This is your second. You won't get a third."
The emaciated ogre finally made it to its feet. Its unswollen
eye gave one final, hungry look at Gylar, then it turned
and limped slowly into the woods from which it had come,
blood drops dotting its tracks.
Marakion's brow furrowed. Sheathing Glint, he turned
to face the boy.
"What's your name?" Marakion asked harshly.
The boy looked dazed, still recovering from shock and
fright. "Uh, Gylar, sir. I... Thanks," he tacked on lamely.
"You shouldn't be out here alone. Ogres might not be
the worst you'll find. I hear there's a dangerous band of
brigands in these hills."
Marakion watched for some reaction. Gylar's face gave
no telltale signs of anything but relief.
"I - I'm on a quest, and . . . Who are you?" Gylar
couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "What are you
doing up on the mountain here? My village is the only one
for miles."
Marakion noted the honest innocence in the boy's face,
and he cursed again, silently.
"I do a bit of traveling. Just passing through, really." He
paused and looked at Gylar closely once more. He began to
doubt again. The boy might be a cunning liar.
"Tell you what, kid. Looks like we both need to rest a
little." He touched his raked side gingerly. "What do you
say to putting your quest on hold and setting up camp? I
saw a cave, over there a ways.... When we get a good fire
going, you can tell me all about it
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