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. He concen-
trated on keeping it down and on not hearing the details
of Trapspringer's story.
"... But you're a doctor -- I don't have to tell you what
the inside of a person looks like." The kender blithely
jumped down from the wall and took his pony by the
bridle. "Are you ready? Say, you don't look very well."
Phineas pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose,
trying to massage away a spreading headache. "The
bread just didn't sit well," he said feebly.
"We can go back to Kendermore anytime you like,"
Trapspringer offered. "I've been here plenty of times --
not much left to discover, really."
"Then why did Damaris come here?" the human
asked.
Trapspringer shrugged. "Why not? It used to be a great
place to find relics, but it's been picked clean for decades.
Now it's just a sort of unofficial rite of passage to survive
the Ruins."
"Survive?"
Trapspringer peered closely at Phineas. "You sure are
the skittish type, aren't you?"
"I hardly think it's being skittish to worry about hav-
ing your head bitten off," Phineas sniffed defensively.
"Oh, that," Trapspringer said, dismissing the incident
with a wave of his hand. "The pony probably asked for
it. So, are we going or staying?"
Phineas dug his knuckles into his eyes and rubbed.
He'd come awfully far to turn back now. With Damaris
gone, Tasslehoff had no reason to return to Kendermore
with the other half of the map. The human felt his tenu-
ous grip on the situation, and the treasure, slip away. He
heard himself say in a hollow voice, "Going
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