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"But if you don't know where they are, how would anyone know
where you are to tell you that someone whose whereabouts you didn't
know had died?" Flint sputtered awkwardly. The dwarf paused for a
moment, then shook his head. "Listen to me, now I'm starting to sound
like a kender!" he spat.
But Tas was too busy listing off relatives to notice. "There's
Uncle Remo Lockpick, my father's uncle's second cousin, I think. He
has a wonderful collection of keys - big ones, small ones, heavy ones,
ones made of bright blue gems as big as your head." Tas scratched his
chin. "What would anyone use a key like that for?"
Both Flint and Tanis wondered why any kender had need of a key,
considering their light-fingered tendencies, but each remained silent.
"And then there's Uncle Wilfre," Tas continued thoughtfully,
"but no one's seen him in, oh, well... I guess I've never seen him,
actually." He took another pull on his ale before continuing.
"My favorite uncle, though, is my mother's brother - I think,"
Tas said, happily remembering. "He's a Furrfoot, not a Burrfoot, which
is very confusing at family picnics, as you might guess. Anyway, Uncle
Trapspringer moved in with my family after his bride died on their
honeymoon. At least he assumed she was dead."
"What do you mean, 'assumed'?" Tanis exclaimed.
"That sounds tragic."
"Oh, it's all very romantic, the way Uncle Trapspringer tells
it," Tas began, holding up his mug for a refill. The kender was
obviously gearing up for one of his long stories
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