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. He had obviously booked passage for
himself and his monstrous horse.
Fear squeezed Woodrow's heart. He and Tas couldn't
leave the ship without being seen, and they couldn't stay
where they were without being discovered.
Then the human remembered the barge containing
wilted produce. Assuming it hadn't drifted too far from
where he'd seen it, it should be only a few feet away. A
pile of lettuce and carrots would make a soft landing.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Burrfoot, but this is for your own
good." With one arm around the struggling kender's
shoulders and another over his mouth, Woodrow threw
Tasslehoff and himself over the ship's railing, praying
that his aim was true, that the vegetables were as cush-
iony as they looked, and that he didn't land on and
squash the kender.
Woodrow hit the barge with a wet, sloshing slap and
released the kender. Tumbling and rolling side to side, he
slid down a hump of slimy refuse and tumbled up against
the side of the barge. With horror, he realized that the
garbage on the barge was a lot older and more rotten
than he'd thought -- mounds and mounds of rotting let-
tuce, tomatoes, carrots, meat, rags, and worse.
After spitting over the side a dozen times and wiping
his lips and face as thoroughly as possible, Woodrow
scanned about for Tasslehoff. "Mr. Burrfoot?" he whis-
pered loudly, trying not to swallow. "Tasslehoff, are you
all right? Please answer me!"
Woodrow heard a soft groan nearby. Raking through
the awful-smelling garbage, he found the kender lying in
a heap against the side of the barge, a large lump forming
in front of his topknot
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