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."
"But you've ruined it by being selfish," finished Ligg in
an accusing, nasal tone. "We can't be blamed." Tas could
see Ligg's shoulders through the grate, shrugging. "Now
we have things to prepare." With that, they disappeared.
"I've got to say, Woodrow, that this sure makes getting
married look attractive," Tas sighed, sliding down the
wall into a heap.
Woodrow parted his limp, sweat-soaked hair from his
eyes and collapsed next to Tasslehoff on the floor. "You
could say that again, Mr. Burrfoot." He was quickly
asleep.
For once, the kender seemed to know a joke when he
heard one. Tired beyond caring, he extinguished the
spark in his brain, like a flame snuffed out by wet fin-
gers.
Suddenly, Tas heard something.
What was that noise?
Something was whimpering behind the pillars. Tassle-
hoff crept past Woodrow's sleeping form and tiptoed
from pillar to pillar, peering carefully around each. Near
the back of the dark room, he leaned around a pillar and
gasped.
Lying in the shadows in a disconsolate heap was a
large -- enormous, actually -- hairy elephantlike crea-
ture! It lay on its side, thumping its trunk in an unhappy
rhythm, while tears coursed down its thick, gray coat,
settling in a puddle by its fierce-looking tusks. Suddenly
it raised its head and peered at Tasslehoff around the pil-
lar.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here," it said in
a high-pitched, sing-song voice.
"You can talk!" gasped Tas, stepping from behind the
pillar.
"Of course I can. Don't all woolly mammoths talk?"
Tasslehoff blinked, taken aback
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