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Come back in glory
Or on your shield.
The ragtag party marched through the massive gates
of Rosloviggen at dusk. The sunset turned the stonework
of the walls a vivid orange, and the mountain range
threw long, purple shadows down the valley. The
marching song of the dwarves mingled with the songs of
the lamplighters, the matrons calling their charges home
to dinner, and the hundreds of dwarves returning home
from the day's work in the mines, the stonecutting and
jewelry shops -- plus the sounds of tailors, weavers, pot-
ters, candlemakers, and the vast number of other arti-
sans, craftsmen, and laborers who made up a city. Tas
was enchanted; Woodrow and the gully dwarves were
overwhelmed.
"How they get so many people to be one place without
fight?" Fondu asked aloud, setting off a rowdy debate
among the gully dwarves.
Though the village was unfamiliar to Gisella, its
sounds made her feel almost as if she'd returned home.
Everywhere were the signs of the autumn harvest festival
known as Oktoberfest, where goods were traded and
sold, and food and drink were plentiful. Houses were
freshly painted in bright colors with new thatch or
shingles, flower boxes in full bloom, and gathered
grains, potatoes, squashes, and gourds displayed in
doorways. Benches had been erected in every square,
and barrels of ale were stacked, ten high in places, await-
ing the celebration.
Woodrow was still holding the horses' reigns, with the
meager possessions that Gisella had salvaged from the
wagon lashed across their backs, when they stopped be-
fore a large, open square
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