"Look what I found!" Tasslehoff annou nced. "A leather pouch with the letter R on it. Let's see what's inside."

Raistlin recognized the pouch, which only moments earlier had been hanging from his belt. "No! Wait! Don't "

Too late. Tas had opened the pouch. "There's a bunch of dried-up flowers in here. I'll just empty those out." He

dumped the rose petals on the floor, looked back inside. "Nope, nothing else. That's odd. Why would anyone-"

"Give me that!" Raistlin snatched the pouch. He was literally trembling with rage.

"Oh, is that yours?" Tas looked up at him, eyes bright. "I cleaned it out for you. Someone had stuck a bunch of

dead flowers inside it."

Raistlin opened his mouth, but words were not only inadequate,they were nonexistent. He could only glare, make

incoherent sounds, and at least satisfy some of his anger by casting a furious glance at his laughing brother.

After losing the pouch and the rose petals twice more, Raistlin realized that outrage, threats of violence and/or

legal action did not work with kender. He could never catch the deft fingers that could untie any knot, no matter how

tight and slide the bagaway with the lightness of touch of a spider. Coping with Tasslehoff required subtlety.

Raistlin conducted an experiment. He placed a rounded lump of brightly colored glass, acquired from leavings at

the glassblowers, inside his pouch. The next time Tas "found" the pouch, he discovered the glass inside. Enchanted,

he drew out the glass, dropped the pouch to the floor. Raistlin retrieved the pouch and his spell components intact.

After that, he took to putting some trinket or interesting object (a bird's egg, a petrified beetle, a sparkling rock) in the

pouch. Whenever he missed it, he knew where to look.

As Raistlin learned more about kender, Caramon was learning the fine and not-so-fine points of dwarven combat.

Due to the short stature of dwarves and the fact that they generally fight opponents much taller than

themselves, dwarven fighting techniques are not elegant. Flint used a number of moves -groin kicks and rabbit

punches, for example-that were not chivalrous, according to Sturm.

"I will not fight like a common street brawler," he protested.

The time of year was the deepest part of midwinter. Crystalmir Lake was frozen and snow-covered. Most

people kept indoors where it was warm, toasting their feet and drinking hot punch. Flint had Sturm and Caramon

outside, working them into a lather, "toughening them up."

"Is that so?" Flint walked over to stand beneath the tall young man. Drops of water from his panting breath

coated Sturm's mustaches, making him look like walrus, according to Tasslehoff.

"And what will you do when you are attacked by a common street brawler, laddie?" Flint demanded. "Raise

your sword to him in some fool salute while he kicks you in your privates?"

Caramon guffawed. Sturm frowned at the vulgarity, but conceded that the dwarf had a point. He should at

least know how to counter such an attack.

"Goblins, now," Flint continued his lecture. "They're basically cowards, unless they're fired up with liquor,

and then they're just plain crazed. A goblin will always try to jump you from behind, slit your throat before you

know what's hit you. Like this ... He'll use his hairy hand to muffle your scream, and with his other, draw the

blade right across here. You'll bleed to death almost before your body hits the ground.

"Now, here's what you do. You use the goblin's own weight and forward movement against him. He comes at

you, jumps on you like this...."

"Let me be the goblin!" Tasslehoff begged, waving his hand. "Please, Flint! Let me!"

"All right. Now, the kender-"

"Goblin!" Tas corrected and leapt onto Flint's broad back. " -jumps on you. What do you do? Just this."

Flint grabbed hold of the kender's two hands that were

clutching for his throat and, bending double, flipped the kender

over his head.

Tas landed hard on the frozen, snow-covered ground. He lay there a moment, gasping and gulping.

"Knocked the air clean out me!" he said when he could talk. He scrambled to his feet. "I've never not been

able to breathe

before, have you, Caramon? It's an interesting feeling. And I saw the stars and it's not even night. Do you want

me to do it to you, Caramon?"

"Hah! You couldn't flip me!" Caramon scoffed.

"Maybe not," Tas admitted. "But I can do this."