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.
"Uncle Trapspringer collects bones," he gulped -- "of animals
and such," he managed to gasp at last. "That's the one he carries for
good luck!"
"Obviously it's not working," observed Gisella dryly, tucking
the purse back into her blouse.
Tanis sighed heavily. "I should have known better than to try
helping you out of a jam, Tas. I give up; you're on your own." The
half-elf shook Tas's small hand and backed out the door. "Good luck,
friend. See you in five years."
Chuckling aloud, Flint stepped after the young halfelf. "Have a
nice wedding, Tas!" he said, clapping the kender affectionately on the
shoulder as he passed him. "Wait!" Tas called. "Of course I'm terribly
concerned about Uncle Trapspringer --" But his friends were already
gone. Tasslehoff took a step after them, but Gisella and Woodrow
blocked his way. Feeling just the tiniest bit forlorn, he chewed his
lip and looked expectantly at the red-haired dwarf.
Gisella Hornslager arched her eyebrows in a hopeful gesture.
"Well, that's that, hmm? Those melons aren't getting any greener."
Tasslehoff hesitated.
Just then, Otik emerged from the kitchen, carrying a parchment
sack. "I, uh, just wanted you to have something to remember your trip
to Solace," he said shyly, placing the sack in the dwarf's
outstretched hands. Then he wiped his own greasy ones on the front of
his apron. Gisella flashed the tubby barkeep a brilliant smile.
"You wonderful, thoughtful little man!" she cooed, planting a
red-lipped kiss on his plump, blushing cheek
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