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. Woodrow collected an armload of small
sticks and dry branches.
"How did you learn to do that?" Tas asked him. "Understand
animals, I mean."
"I dunno," said the young human, shrugging. "I just watch and
listen. Always have. I think anyone can understand animals. Most
people just never pay enough attention."
"Of course, Flint says I talk too much," Tasslehoff reElected
pensively. "Maybe that's why I've never heard an animal talk."
"I guess," Woodrow said. "Anyway, I hope you can, cook
something. Miss Hornslager can't even boil water. I try, but..."
"Oh, I'm a great cook!" Tas proclaimed modestly.
"Why, I can make rabbit gumbo and turnip dressing and even acorn
pie!"
"I'm afraid we don't have any of those ingredients," Woodrow
said sadly. "Miss Hornslager lives in the wagon year-round, so she
travels light -- just her possessions, and what she has for barter or
as payment. I haven't seen her do a lot of trading in the few weeks
I've been with her -- at least not for goods." Woodrow blushed,
remembering the lusty dwarf's advances.
But Tas didn't notice. "So what do we have on hand?"
"At the moment, we're down to one skinny chicken, a bag of dried
beans, three boIts of fabric with gold threads, two crates of
merganser melons that we don't dare touch, two live pug ferrets --
which will stay that way," he warned through narrowed eyes, "and some
odd spices, most of which have to be scraped off the floor of the
wagon, though there are some in jars
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