Fiete sprinted through the village, inhabitants in hot
pursuit. Rounding a corner, he saw a rickety wagon with a black-clad elf
standing in the doorway.
“In here, boy!” he called, waving. Fiete leapt up the
wooden steps and the elf pulled him inside before closing the door.
Fiete stood hands on knees catching his breath. The elf
was unfazed as the sound of the approaching villagers grew louder. Fiete looked
up in apprehension.
“Don’t worry about that rabble,” the elf said. “My wagon
is under an illusion that their weak minds won’t penetrate. Unlike you, who saw
through it immediately.”
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