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    Summary

    After bellowing with laughter at the thought of such a contest, Telchar gathered the two elves up and proposed it to them at once: “A challenge of weapon-craft; the better-made weapon wins. Easy as that.”

    “What weapon?” asked Eol.

    “Swords?” asked Curufin, one ring-bedecked hand curled under his chin.

    Eol glanced at him, but Curufin kept his gaze on Telchar. “I can make no lesser of a blade than you.”

    “Ah,” Curufin mock-realized, rolling his eyes up at the cavern ceiling (an elven habit, as they often appealed to stars in their rhetoric), “I was being rude in suggesting a contest that would favor my skills. Perhaps, instead—”

    “And how does it favor you?” asked Eol, cold and biting.

    Language:
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