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"I don't need any of your stinking food!" He stood
up and paced furiously.
Vinsint was mildly offended. "Perhaps you don't,
but your friend might have liked some. That was
good, aged skunk!" He picked up several of the mor-
sels, brushed them off, reassembled them as small
sandwiches, and placed them back on the table.
"Though I should have expected this sort of behavior
from a half-orc!"
Denzil froze. His gloved hands clenched and un-
clenched. "You are mistaken. I am a human."
The ogre was unswayed. "Yes, but you're also an
orc." He wagged his finger. "I know my species."
"Yeah." Tas chimed in, studying Denzil's face. "That
nose, those eyes: I always thought there was some-
thing strange-looking about you, but I just figured it
was because you were so mean all the time."
Denzil's face was as dark as a thundercloud, and he
said nothing for a moment, just clenched and un-
clenched his fists. Tasslehoff found that gesture more
frightening than any words he might have uttered. But
when he spoke, his tone was clipped, measured, and a
threat. "I do not resemble that part of my, uh, parent-
age."
"Speaking of animals, where did you get that night-
mare?" Vinsint continued conversationally while he
went on preparing the main course.
"You're such a smart ogre," Denzil said sarcastically.
"You tell me."
Vinsint chose to ignore the sarcasm. "I am rather
smart, aren't I?" He tapped a wooden spoon against
his chin as he thought. "Let's see, nightmares are usu-
ally owned by demons and their kind, but however
bad you may be, you're no demon
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