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"You weren't too far from right, Gisella," he said,
resting his hand on the piece of wood with the sail
wrapped around it. "You raise this thing here -- it's
called the yard -- up this thing here -- the mast -- and
hang the sail from it. But you steer with those sticks
dangling off the back end of the boat."
"I think those sticks at the stern are called sweeps,"
Woodrow said meekly.
"I knew that, but I was trying to simplify things for
Gisella," Tas glared at him. "I thought you didn't know
anything about sailing?"
Woodrow raised his hands defensively. "I don't.
Sorry."
"All right then," Tas concluded his lesson. "All we
have to do is figure out which direction the wind is
coming from, catch some of it in the sail, and point our
nose east. Sooner or later we're bound to find some-
thing."
Tas licked his finger and held it in the air tentatively.
He turned it this way and that, licked it again, and
held it up as high as he could.
Gisella leaned closer to Woodrow. "What's he do-
ing?" she asked furtively.
"I think he's trying to find out which direction the
wind is blowing," whispered Woodrow, afraid that
noise would upset the kender.
"I think it's blowing from the north," Tasslehoff an-
nounced at last. He turned to Fondu who, along with a
half-dozen other gully dwarves, had volunteered to
come along as deck hands for the "pretty-haired lady."
The deck hands were busy now spitting over the side
and watching the bubbles drift on the waves. "Fondu,
line up the crew."
With a resounding belch, Fondu grabbed his kins-
men by twos and propelled them toward the wagon
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