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. Of course, Flint was no youngster himself - he was in his
early one-hundred-forties, which translated to late fifties for a
human.
The grizzled dwarf wasn't finished yet. "Raistlin always
brooding, Sturm so blasted stoic, Kitiara forever arm-wrestling with
Caramon, or wrestling of another sort with Tanis...." His gruff
expression softened, and he gave the half-elf a good-natured poke in
the ribs.
Tas leaned back his chair and propped his feet on the table. "Do
you think Sturm has a chance of finding his father in Solamnia?" he
asked, suddenly reminded of their friends who had already left. Sturm
Brightblade and Kitiara Uth-Matar had left Solace earlier in the day,
headed for Solamnia to the north. Sturm was searching for the father
he'd been forced to leave as a child, and Kitiara had gone along for
the adventure.
"If Sir Brightblade is still alive, I'm sure Sturm will find
him," Tanis said firmly. "He can't miss with Kit along to help."
The fire crackled and popped, spitting a hot ember onto Tas's
left leg. With a yelp he was on his feet, leaping around madly. "Ouch!
Ouch! Is that why Kit went - to look for Sturm's father?" he asked,
slapping furiously at his smoldering legging.
Tanis, scarcely taken aback by the kender's acrobatics, replied
seriously, "I don't think Kit knows what she's looking for."
The ember extinguished, Tas poked his finger through the
black-rimmed hole in his blue leggings. "Well, whatever it is, I'm
sure she'll find it," he said
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