Kender, Gully Dwarves And Gnomes

fire.

The old dwarf carved a last, feathering stroke on the small object he'd been whittling all afternoon. Not since he had started work had he looked at what it was he was making. There were times, when he was thinking hard about something, or when he was very peaceful, that he could simply let his hands take over. The result of his work then was not craft but art.

The talk that night was desultory and wandering, aimless paths of conversation that made for no goal but, more often than not, returned to Tasslehoff's sudden and urgent departure three days before. Urgent to Tas, at least.

It had to do with a talking wren. Tas had been certain that the bird had spoken, pleading for help. His long brown eyes had been bright with that certainty. No one had been able to convince him otherwise. So off he'd gone like some small knight on a quest.

And, everyone agreed, it was best to give Solace a chance to cool its collective temper and forget about Tas for a time. A winter-bound kender in Solace could do about as much damage as a skulk of foxes in a henhouse, or an invading army. Few folk had the patience for Tas's long and tangled explanations about how he had simply «borrowed» the missing item, truly meant to return it, and just couldn't understand how the pilfered goods ended up in HIS pouches.

Across the room Caramon's deep, bright laughter pounced and overrode the quiet voices of his friends.

'A talking wren!' He attempted to raise the pitch of his voice in imitation of the kender's piping insistence that he had, indeed, spoken with a wren. He failed utterly. 'And one who asks for help, at that. Then off he goes with hardly a good-bye.'

Raistlin murmured something, and Tanis smiled. Sturm only shook his head and continued to polish the already gleaming blade of his sword.

Flint closed his hands over the little carving, rubbing the edges of it with his thumbs. His home, these days, seemed always to be filled with these oddly assorted young comrades.

Tanis, the quiet, seemingly young half-elf whose hazel eyes were alight now with good humor, seemed always to have been here, though the old dwarf could remember a time when he wasn't.

Caramon, all six feet of him, had made it his life's duty to keep Flint's larder as empty as possible. Raistlin, thin and as cloaked in uneasy mystery as he was now cloaked by the shadows of the comer he habitually inhabited near the hearth, was often so silent that one almost forgot he was there. Almost…

And then there was Sturm, taller though slimmer than Raistlin's brawny twin. This one should have matched Caramon's high spirits flash for shine. But he did not. Too grim by half! Flint thought now, watching the young man working intently over his sword. The weapon must be as perfect as its master strove to be.

'Tas'll be back,' Caramon said, yawning. 'How far can he follow a bird, anyway?'

Tanis, quiet through most of the conversation, got to his feet and stretched. 'Likely not far. It's what catches his eye after he's lost the bird that will keep him away.' He smiled and shook his head. The kender's attention was like a feather on the wind. 'Still, I don't doubt you're right, Caramon. This rain will be snow before morning. We're not done with winter yet, and Tas likes a warm fire and a good meal as well as anyone. I don't think Solace is going to have a chance to miss him before he's back.'

'Miss him?' Raistlin left his seat by the fire and gave his brother a quick look and Tanis a dour smile. 'He could be gone for a year and go unmissed around here. The hour is late. Are you coming, Caramon?'

Caramon nodded, bade his friends good night, and followed his brother from the room. Sturm was up and gone a moment later, and the house was silent but for the drumming rain on the roof.

Tanis poked up the fire in the hearth and poured himself a last cup of wine. He settled down on the floor next to Flint's chair and watched the flames dance.

'Talking wrens,' he said, after a time. 'I think it was more boredom and restlessness. I can understand that. It has been a long winter.'

Flint snorted. 'Long winters are fine, peaceful things when they're not plagued by kender.'

'And old dwarves are solemn, grim creatures when they've no kender to be plagued with. You've had little enough to say tonight, Flint.'

'I've been working, and listening to your chatter.'

Tanis eyed the little carving still nestled in Flint's hands. He reached for it, asking permission with a questioning smile. Flint reluctantly gave it over.

Tanis always met Flint's work with his hands first. 'Know what it is with your hands,' the old dwarf had taught him, 'before you see what it is with your eyes.'

Now the half-elf traced the careful detail, the artful evocation of wing and feather. 'Nice. A wren, is it?'

With a scowl he hoped was forbidding, Flint snatched the wooden bird away. 'Don't you have a home to go to? Off with you now, and let me get some sleep.'

Tanis rose gracefully and dropped a hand to his old friend's shoulder. 'Well, get some then, and don't spend the night worrying about Tas. He'll be fine.'

'Worry? Not me! Not unless it's to worry about the person who is luckless enough to encounter him on his bird chase. Talking wrens, indeed. As likely as finding a kender with a brain that works. Good night, Tanis.'

Tanis grinned. 'Good night, Flint.'

The hard, hollow scent of the cat's hunger filled the small cottage now. There was murder in the golden tabby's eyes.

You can't be nearly as hungry as I am, cat! the squirrel thought resentfully. Or at least he hoped not. The cat had killed a third time just as the setting sun's orange light gilded the windowsill. It was full dark now, and the squirrel was glad that clouds and rain hid the moons tonight. Lunitari's light might remind him too much of blood.

I'm so hungry! And so thirsty! If that cat knocks the cage off this table to get at me, I don't know if I'll have the strength to run. Then I'd really be up a tree…

Almost the squirrel laughed. He wished he were up a tree, curled all safe and warm, his nose tucked into his thick gray tail. With a nice fire blazing in the hearth.

Hearth?

The squirrel shook himself and whipped his tail over his head. Where had that strange thought come from? What he really wanted was a nice leaf-lined nest, a hearty cache of nuts to nibble on from time to time, a little water from the puddles on the ground…and some eggs and cheese, a little fresh bread and new honey.. He wondered if hunger was making him lose his wits. He

wondered, too, when the man would return to feed him and the cat.

The cat leaped onto the table again, rubbing against the bars and making an ominous rumbling sound in his throat. The squirrel could smell dead mice on the tabby's breath.

Cat, he ventured, you look like you need a nap.

I've been napping all day, squirrel

You've been eating all day.

I wouldn't mind eating all night.

The squirrel sniffed then and bared his teeth.

Be fair, cat! You've eaten every poor little mouse who was foolish enough to come into this cottage. I haven't had a thing to eat since I got locked up in this horrible cage. And I don't think you'd find me very palatable — I'll be skin and bones before morning.

Bones, anyway, the cat purred, If I have my way.

He'll be back soon, he will.

He might be. sometimes he stays away for days at a time.

The squirrel felt his belly rub up against his ribs. Days! Days in this dreadful cage with no food, no water, and a hungry cat! He had to get out!

He'd no sooner had the thought than the cat lifted his head, ears cocked, and glided silently across the table and to the floor. Man-scent filled the air; booted footsteps sounded outside the door. Twitching and trembling, the squirrel rose onto his hind legs. He smelled food!

The man had food, indeed, but he took his time about passing it out. He kicked off his boots at the door, sloughed cold rain from his black robes, and complained in his deep, rumbling voice about how the rain would soon