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Shasta, having freed himself from the prison of bedclothes, blinked at Aganzir. "Let us hope you enjoy being wet," he promised, a glint of righteous retribution in his eye, before stalking off.
"Such a mean woman, where I'm concerned," he muttered to himself. "Always doing things to me, threatening me... Remember, the last time she threatened me, she'd been infected by that horrible Lycanthropy... I wonder if the same thing has happened here?"
Tripping over one of the wolf heads laying about the floor, Shasta glared at McCaber. "My good huntsman, these are clearly the heads of Lowland Timberwolves. Any huntsman with a grain of sense would know that this particular type of wolf has its habitat nowhere near our location.... which begs the question, how did you manage to find five where none should be? It makes me think that you're sending off a bit of a Hunter's Hint... but given that poor Farael gave no indication to the presence of a Hunter..."
Shasta trailed off, a wary look on his face.
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