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. Sitting on
the table -- or tied to it, actually -- was Phineas Curick.
The human's head slumped onto his chest. The little halo
of hair that nature had left him at the base of his skull
stuck out wildly now. There were scratches on his face
and hands, but otherwise the human looked unscathed.
"What have you done to him!" Trapspringer asked, in-
clining his head toward Phineas.
The ogre drew back as if insulted. "Aw, I barely nicked
him. He was flailing about so much that I had to tie him
down to keep him from hurting himself." He poked the
human, and Phineas groaned. "He'll be OK."
"Wait a minute! How come you can speak the Com-
mon tongue?" Damaris demanded.
The ogre rolled its big, baggy eyes. "I should know by
now not to expect simple courtesy from kender." He
heaved a deep sigh, blowing a puff of foul air through the
gaps between his teeth, and shook his head sadly. "Let's
start at the beginning, shall we? My name is Vinsint.
Who might you be?"
Damaris and Trapspringer looked at each other in dis-
belief. A polite, articulate ogre? This was very interest-
ing indeed.
Trapspringer's hand disappeared in the ogre's meaty
palm. "Trapspringer Furrfoot, at your service," he said
politely. He gestured toward the other kender. "And this
is Damaris Metwinger."
The ogre took her tiny hand. "Charmed, I'm sure," he
said and giggled, sounding like someone choking on a
fish bone. "Get it? 'Charmed'? You just came from the en-
chanted grove!" His mirth turned to frustration. "Never
mind
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