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Oh, so this was how Sondo took his advice, was it? With hard, cold, unfriendly words. Falco had struggled to the point of exhaustion to give advice in a manner that was firm yet preserving of friendliness. Sondo had... had... had... and those last words of his. For them or against them? Sondo sounded more like a mutineer than Falco had ever even considered sounding.
Falco flung back his head and looked Sondo squarely in the eye. "If you put it that way, Sondo," he said, in regular tones but with a glint in his eye, "then I'll tell you that I'm against you. Not against the company, but against you, and you alone. I've no doubt that they have some sense in their heads yet, and the water has dimmed their brains too much." These harsh words, rather than diminish his anger, increased it, and he went on in a more fiery tone.
"You're accustomed to being the leader, Sondo Brandybuck, and I generally follow you because you're sensible. But when you go into an absurdity like this, the absurdity of going home to get whipped and beaten and sent into disgrace for weeks, I lose all patience... and all respect, as well. I won't follow a leader who can't lead. And you, Sondo Brandybuck, can't lead."
He straightened himself up, and glowered into Sondo's eyes for a few moments. "Now I've had my say, and I've given you my honest opinion of your decisions and of you. I'm going south now, because as it so happens I know just how to get supplies without stooping to steal. You might steal, because you're plans always go wrong, but I won't, because mine always go right." He turned abruptly then, and began to walk south, his back defiantly turned to Sondo.
He had not gone a few yards, however, before he turned again and, with scorn and contempt and mockery lashing in his voice, he added: "Wolves my foot!"
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