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"I guess we'll have to turn around and take the southern route
after all," Gisella grumbled. "We can't possibly reach Kendermore in
time for the fair now." She sighed.
"My melons, my melons... I could have replaced my wardrobe with
the money they would have brought me...."
"I'm not so sure, ma'am,- Woodrow said suddenly, ming around
from the front of the wagon. "About turning back and going south, I
mean. I unhitched the horses and led them forward into the swamp for
quite some distance, and the water didn't get any deeper. In some
places it was even drier." The young man shook his shaggy hair from
his eyes and regarded Gisella.
"And?" Gisella's patience was strained. "What does that mean,
Woodrow?"
"It means the water doesn't appear to get much deeper than four
or five inches in most places. It means that it would be tough with
these heavy wheels, but if we take it slow and steady, I think we can
make it through."
"Through to where? To Xak Tsaroth? How do we know if we're
anywhere near Xak Tsaroth? How do we know this swamp doesn't go on
forever?"
"Nothing goes on forever, ma'am," said Woodrow. Gisella gave a
rueful smile at the young man's unintentional philosophy. "My head is
splitting."
"I know how to fix that," Tasslehoff said helpfully from inside
the wagon, reaching toward her temples. "You just tie two dead --"
"Thanks, but no thanks," Gisella said quickly, ducking from his
grasp and out the back of the wagon
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