suppose I might need to know numbers for counting the heads of all the goblins I'm going to kill or how many pieces

of pie to cut, but that's it. I certainly don't need twice-times and divisors and all that."

"Then you will grow up ignorant," said Raistlin coldly. "Like a gully dwarf."

Caramon clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I don't care. You can do all the twice-times for me."

"There might be a time when I am not there, Caramon," Raistlin said.

"We'll always be together, Raist," Caramon returned complacently. "We're twins. I need you for twice-times.

You need me to look after you."

Raistlin sighed inwardly, conceding this to be true. And it wouldn't be so bad, he thought. Caramon's brawn

combined with my brain ...

"Stop the cart!" Raistlin ordered.

Startled, Caramon yanked on the reins, brought the horse to a halt. "What is it? You got to go pee? Should I

come with you? What?"

Raistlin slid off the seat. "Stay there. Wait for me. I won't be long."

Landing on the hard-baked dirt, he left the road and plunged into the thick weeds and underbrush. Beyond

him, a stand of wheat rippled like a golden lake, washed up against a shoreline of dark green pines. Pawing

through the weeds, shoving them aside impatiently , Raistlin searched for the glint of white he'd seen from the

cart.

There it was. White flowers with waxy petals, set against large, dark green leaves with saw-toothed edges.

Tiny filaments hung from the leaves. Raistlin paused, inspected the plant. He identified it easily. The problem

was how to gather it. He ran back to the cart.

"What is it?" Caramon craned his neck tosee. "A snake? Did you find a snake?"

"A plant," Raistlin said. Reaching into the cart, he grabbed hold of his bundle of clothes, pulled out a shirt. He

returned to his find.

"A plant ..." Caramon repeated, his face wrinkling in puzzlement.He brightened. "Can you eat it?"

Raistlin did not reply.He knelt beside the plant, the shirt wrapped around his hand. With his left hand,he

unclasped a small knife from his belt, and, moving cautiously, careful to keep his bare hand from brushing

against the filaments, he snipped several of the leaves from the stem. He picked up the leaves with the hand

protected by the shirt and, carrying them gingerly, returned to the wagon.

Caramon stared. "All that for a bunch of leaves?" "Don't touch it!" Raistlin warned.

Caramon snatched his hand back. "Why not?" "You see those little filaments on the leaves?"

"Fill-a-whats?"

"Hairs. The tiny hairs on the leaves? This plant is called 'stinging nettle.' Touch the leaves and they'll sting you

enough to raise red welts on your skin. It's very painful. Sometimes people even die from it, if they react badly to

it."

"Ugh!" Caramon peered down at the nettle leaves lying in the bottom of the wagon. "What do you want a

plant like that for?"

Raistlin settled himself back onto the wagon's seat. "I study them."

"But they could hurt you!" Caramon protested. "Why do you want to study something that could hurt you?"

"You practice with the sword Kitiara brought you. Remember the first time you swung it? You nearly cut your

foot off!"

"I still have the scar," Caramon said sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess that's true." He clucked at the horse and the

cart lurched forward.

The brothers spoke of other matters after that. Caramon did most of the talking, relating the news of Solacethose

who had newly moved into town, those who had left, those who had been born, and those who had died. He

told of the small adventures of their group of friends, children with whom they'd grown up. And the truly

remarkable news: A kender had taken up residency. The one who'd caused such a stir at the fair. He'd moved in

with that grumpy dwarf metalsmith; much to the dwarf's ire, but what could you do about it, short of drowning

the kender, whose untimely demise was expected daily. Raistlin listened in silence, letting his brother's voice

flow over him, warming him like the spring sunshine.

Caramon's cheerful, mindless prattle removed some of the dread Raistlin felt, dread about going home and