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. "Pleased
to meet you." He held out his hand. "Where are we, by
the way?" He looked around at the small village.
"I'm Lindal Hammerwart." The kender, one of the
most obese either Damaris or Trapspringer had ever
seen, took Trapspringer's hand and broke into a jowly
grin. "And you're in Gelfigburg! Hey, everyone, we've
got newcomers!" he hollered.
It was as if the cry opened floodgates. Doors flew
back, their lemondrop knobs slamming into ginger-
bread siding. The box-world shook as dozens of the fat-
test kender ever seen waddled and jiggled themselves
toward Trapspringer and Damaris. The two were sur-
rounded in no time and bombarded with an unintelligi-
ble stream of high-pitched, excited questions.
"What are your names? The Welcoming Committee
needs them for the cake."
"Are those boots pigskin or cowhide?"
"Are you bothered by indigestion?"
"Where are you from?"
"Do you have any food made from anything besides
sugar?"
"What an interesting color for a cape! May I borrow
it sometime?"
Laughing and shaking hands, Trapspringer tried his
best to answer all the questions, unable to squeeze in
one of his own.
Suddenly a multicolored streak of light shot down
from the swirling clouds above and touched the ground
for a heartbeat or two, as if it was solid. Then, as i
quickly, it receded back into the mist, leaving a very un-
steady Phineas standing a few yards from the cluster of
kender.
"What in hell was that foggy tunnel?" he grumbled,
while jarring the side of his head with the heel of his
hand
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