Mary Kirchoff - Dragonlance Preludes I - Vol 2

Mary Kirchoff. Kendermore

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("Dragonlance Preludes I" #2).

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To Steve, who helped me immensely and without complaint and

exhibited considerably more patience than I might have managed if the

roles were reversed.

And to Alexander, the light of my life, who, despite seeing me

only at dinner for months on end, still remembered to call me Mommy.

***

Kendermore

by Mary Kirchoff

Late afternoon was a peaceful time at the Inn of the Last Home

in the village of Solace. Three friends sat at their favorite table

near the inn's fireplace, making plans.

"Where do you think you'll go first, Tas?" The speaker was Tanis

Half-Elven, who relaxed with his chin cupped in his an and his elbow

propped on the dark, oak table.

Across the table from Tanis sat his kender friend, Tasslehoff

Burrfoot. Next to Tasslehoff was the burly dwarf, Flint Fireforge.

The smell of smoke hovered about the kender's nose. It clung to

all forty-eight inches of his childlike frame, from the toes of his

blue leggings to the very tip of his topknot of ginger-colored hair.

The familiar scent comforted him, for he was just a smidgeon sad; soon

he would be leaving his closest friends for five years, which was a

very long time. Their tight-knit group of seven had decided to part

and meet again - five years to the day - after they'd learned what

they could about rumors of war in the land, as well as solve some

personal problems.

"I haven't thought much about where I'm going yet," the kender

said vaguely. "Wherever the wind blows me, I guess." Raising an empty

flagon upside-down, Tasslehoff threw his head back and waited for the

last dollop of flavorful foam to slide slowly into his waiting mouth.

At last, the froth drizzled out with a "plop!"

Smacking his lips in satisfaction, he wiped them with the edge

of his fur-trimmed sleeve. Squinting agains't the haze in the dimly

lit taproom, he looked at Tanis. "Friends all over Krynn have been

waiting for my next visit, though!" Tasslehoff pushed his empty mug to

the edge of the table for refilling.

Flint's eyes twinkled merrily under his bushy, grayblack brows.

"I'll bet they've been waiting! And I'll bet they've kept busy, too,

working on kender-proof door locks!" Beneath his huge bulb of a nose

and wild, peppery moustache, the old dwarf's mouth opened wide with

laughter, setting his fleshy cheeks to jiggling. Even Tanis, ever the

peacemaker, could not help smirking behind his hand.

"Oh, do you think so, really?" Tasslehoff cried earnestly. As he

smiled, his young face broke into a thousand tiny, spreading creases,

like a shattered pane of stained glass. Facial wrinkles were a

characteristic shared by all kender, which made it very difficult to

accurately guess a kender's age. "Most locks nowadays are so flimsy -

no protection at all! I don't know how anyone expects to keep anything

safe anymore."

"No one does if kender are about," Flint snorted under his

breath. He could tell from Tanis's warning glance that the elf's sharp

ears had caught his words. Tanis liked to defend the kender against

Flint's gratuitous insults, even if Tas was never in the least truly

offended.

Two of Flint's fingers, tightly pressed together, disappeared

under his moplike moustache, and he blew a loud, sharp whistle. The

inn was not busy, so in no time the innkeeper's adopted daughter

appeared. She was a rosy-cheeked girl with eager eyes and

short-cropped, dark, curly hair. Though a slight breeze blew through

large cracks in the inn's few arched, stained-glass windows - in a few

weeks they would be doubly covered with oiled parchment to keep out

the winter - the weather on this day was unseasonably warm for early

fall. Flint called it "summer's last dance." Coupled with the heat

from the ever-present fire in the hearth, the heavy air had pasted the

girl's hair to her forehead and moistened her coarse, graying tunic to

her back.

"Yes, sir?" she inquired eagerly. Her voice carried none of the

weariness so common among seasoned serving wenches. In a few years,

Flint thought sadly, when the impertinence and unwanted attentions of

too many men wore her down...

"Tika, isn't it?" he asked, and she nodded. Flint smiled

encouragingly. "Then, Tika, I need two more -" Tanis quickly drained

the last of his own mug and pushed it forward. "- make that three more

mugs of Otik's fine ale," Flint corrected himself. "On me."

"Very good, sir." Tika's willowy form bobbed once, then darted

skillfully through the closely spaced tables to the bar.

The Inn of the Last Home was shaped like the letter "L." The

ceiling was low, making the room cozy for small groups, though

sometimes on very busy nights it just seemed cramped. The walls were

built of thick, dark beams sealed with a thin mixture of tar, which

gave off a heavy, musky scent that was pleasantly familiar to the

inn's regular patrons. Small, round tables filled the room, though

Otik had also included one long table with benches to encourage

conversation among strangers.

The kitchen, a noisy, bustling place, was at the foot of the L.

The sounds of pans rattling and the cook screaming, and the enticing

scent of Otik's renowned spiced potatoes, were not unusual at any

hour.

What was unusual was that the inn was built in the mighty

branches of a vallenwood tree, a graceful, fastgrowing giant that

seemed to thrive around Solace. In fact, the entire town, except for

the stables and a few other buildings, was all located high above

ground in vallenwood trees. The village was unlike any other -

breathtakingly beautiful, yet practical for defense. Bridgewalks

spiraled to the ground around the trunks and swayed gently in the air

between trees, linking together businesses, families, and friends.

The three friends seated before the fire seemed lost in thought

as Tika returned with their drinks. The young girl's eyes lingered on

Tanis's attractive face - the dark, wide-set, brooding eyes,

cheekbones seemingly chiseled from marble, and his thick, wavy, red

hair, carelessly uncombed. But when her gaze dropped unconsciously to

his lean, muscled torso, obvious even through his shirt, her hands

grew clumsy and she slopped a bit of ale across the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry... it must be the heat." she mumbled, jabbing at

the spill with the hem of her apron.

"No harm done," Tas assured her. "It's really a very small

puddle. Actually, I'm impressed that you hit the table at all,

considering the way you were staring at -"

"Thank you, Tika," piped Flint, drowning out the rest of the

kender's all-too-honest proclamation. Tika flushed crimson and,

grateful for the dismissal, dashed into the shadows of the kitchen.

"Tas, you shouldn't have embarrassed her like that," Flint

scolded the kender.

"Embarrassed who' Whatever do you mean? Oh, Tika!" Tas finally

caught Flint's meaning. "It's not my fault if she fills mugs to the

brim, although" - he shrugged - "personally I like that in a girl."

Tas scooped a fingerful of foam from the top of one of the mugs and

guided it into his mouth.

Flint rolled his eyes in mock disgust. "There's not a bit of

common sense in that head of yours sometimes. You shouldn't have

pointed out that she was staring at Tanis."

Tas looked puzzled "But girls always stare at Tanis. Have you

seen some of the looks Kitiara gives him? Why, sometimes I get so

embarrassed it's hard to watch! Kit never seems to feel ashamed,

though. I wonder why..."

"Uh-hmmm!" Tanis cleared his throat loudly, his face suddenly

hot. "Would both of you mind not talking about me as if I weren't

here?" He frowned sternly, turning to the unabashed kender. "Tas, what

Flint meant was -" Tanis groped for words that might persuade the

kender.

"It doesn't matter," he sighed at last, seeing Tas's attentive,

childlike expression, curious yet uncomprehending.

"So, Tanis," Flint said, striving to change the subject, "you

haven't told us where you're going." Pulling a chunk of wood and his

whittling knife from the depth of the brown leather vest he insisted

on wearing in every type of weather, Flint leaned back and began

carving details into the miniature form of a half-finished duck.

Tanis stroked his clean-shaven chin and contemplated the fire's

blue flames. "I don't know... I thought I might wander toward the city

of Qualinost," he said ambiguously, his unblinking eyes burning.

Flint looked up and gave Tanis a meaningful stare. Tanis's entry

into the world had been more difficult than most. His mother, an elf

woman raped by a human, had died giving birth to Tanis. The half-breed

child was raised by his mother's brother. Though his uncle treated the

boy as one of his own, Tanis never felt truly welcome among humans or

elves. And as Tanis grew into manhood, his mixed heritage became even

more physically apparent; he was smaller than most humans and larger

than most elves.

It was then that he felt the attitude of his elven family

change. Everyone except Laurana, that is, whose girlish attentions

were not completely unwanted. Which made the tension between Tanis,

his uncle, and his uncle's sons - Laurana's brothers - even more

apparent.

So he had left. The void haunted him, and he knew he must face

his uncle - and Laurana - one day. The task was complicated by the

fact that the man was not only his uncle, but the Speaker of the Sun,

the leader of the Qualinesti Elves.

Flint reached out and squeezed Tanis's shoulder reassuringly.

"You'll always have a home here, lad."

Tanis looked away from the flames, giving Flint a smile that was

not reflected in those brooding, dark eyes. "I know." But this was to

be a happy parting, and Tanis did not wish to think of Qualinost just

now. Not yet.

He flashed Flint a cheery smile. "And if I know you, Flint

Fireforge, you'll spend the whole five years whittling before your

hearth."

Flint sliced an over-large chunk from the wood in his fingers.

"And what would be wrong with that?" he asked indignantly. Tanis was

sure now that the dwarf intended to do just that.

"Nothing, except that it would be awfully boring after an hour

or so," interjected Tasslehoff, sending sparks flying as he stirred up

the fire in the hearth. "You know, Flint, I could stay for a while and

keep you company and -"

"And nothing." Flint cut in, glaring at the kender. "I don't

need any lame-brained kender underfoot! Did it occur to you that may e

I'd like to be a little bored after having you kids cluttering up my

hearth for so.long!" Tanis found the term "kid" amusing since he was

nearly one hundred years old by human reckoning, though he looked

twenty. Of course, Flint was no youngster himself - he was in his

early one-hundred-forties, which translated to late fifties for a

human.

The grizzled dwarf wasn't finished yet. "Raistlin always

brooding, Sturm so blasted stoic, Kitiara forever arm-wrestling with

Caramon, or wrestling of another sort with Tanis...." His gruff

expression softened, and he gave the half-elf a good-natured poke in

the ribs.

Tas leaned back his chair and propped his feet on the table. "Do

you think Sturm has a chance of finding his father in Solamnia?" he

asked, suddenly reminded of their friends who had already left. Sturm

Brightblade and Kitiara Uth-Matar had left Solace earlier in the day,

headed for Solamnia to the north. Sturm was searching for the father

he'd been forced to leave as a child, and Kitiara had gone along for

the adventure.

"If Sir Brightblade is still alive, I'm sure Sturm will find

him," Tanis said firmly. "He can't miss with Kit along to help."

The fire crackled and popped, spitting a hot ember onto Tas's

left leg. With a yelp he was on his feet, leaping around madly. "Ouch!

Ouch! Is that why Kit went - to look for Sturm's father?" he asked,

slapping furiously at his smoldering legging.

Tanis, scarcely taken aback by the kender's acrobatics, replied

seriously, "I don't think Kit knows what she's looking for."

The ember extinguished, Tas poked his finger through the

black-rimmed hole in his blue leggings. "Well, whatever it is, I'm

sure she'll find it," he said. "She's so..."

"Driven?" Tanis completed the sentence.

"Determined, I was going to say," said the ingenuous kender.

"She is that," said Tanis with a knowing smile.

"I'm worried about those darn fool brothers of hers," Flint

muttered, "although I don't know why I bother. And I don't care what

anyone says, Raistlin is too young to be taking that magical test in

the Tower of High Sorcery. Gonna get himself killed is all. And poor

Caramon - I don't know what he would do without him." The twin

brothers, Caramon and Raistlin Majere - Kitiara's half-brothers - had

already left as well. Frail Raistlin intended to take the dangerous

magic user's test in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth, and his

burly brother Caramon had insisted on accompanying him for protection.

Tasslehoff looked thoughtful. "I think it's the other way

around," he said, not intending to sound unkind. "I don't know what

Raistlin would do without Caramon. Unless, of course, he's dead."

"Family...." was all Tanis said, his thoughts remote.

"That's it!" Tas exclaimed, jumping to his feet, his eyes

sparkling with excitement. "That's what I'll do! I'll go visit my

family. Gee, I wonder where any of them are."

"You don't know?" Flint asked, looking up from his whittling.

"How about your parents?"

"Not exactly, no. Not lately, anyhow."

"Then, how do you even know whether any of them are still

alive?" Tanis asked, sipping his ale.

"Someone would have told me if they weren't, I guess," Tas

reasoned.

"But if you don't know where they are, how would anyone know

where you are to tell you that someone whose whereabouts you didn't

know had died?" Flint sputtered awkwardly. The dwarf paused for a

moment, then shook his head. "Listen to me, now I'm starting to sound

like a kender!" he spat.

But Tas was too busy listing off relatives to notice. "There's

Uncle Remo Lockpick, my father's uncle's second cousin, I think. He

has a wonderful collection of keys - big ones, small ones, heavy ones,

ones made of bright blue gems as big as your head." Tas scratched his

chin. "What would anyone use a key like that for?"

Both Flint and Tanis wondered why any kender had need of a key,

considering their light-fingered tendencies, but each remained silent.

"And then there's Uncle Wilfre," Tas continued thoughtfully,

"but no one's seen him in, oh, well... I guess I've never seen him,

actually." He took another pull on his ale before continuing.

"My favorite uncle, though, is my mother's brother - I think,"

Tas said, happily remembering. "He's a Furrfoot, not a Burrfoot, which

is very confusing at family picnics, as you might guess. Anyway, Uncle

Trapspringer moved in with my family after his bride died on their

honeymoon. At least he assumed she was dead."

"What do you mean, 'assumed'?" Tanis exclaimed.

"That sounds tragic."

"Oh, it's all very romantic, the way Uncle Trapspringer tells

it," Tas began, holding up his mug for a refill. The kender was

obviously gearing up for one of his long stories.

"The short version, if you please," Flint warned him. "I don't

want to be sitting here, listening to your tale, when the others

return five years from now."

Tasslehoff rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Flint. I've never told

you a five-year story. Not that I don't know a few....

"Now," he continued as if uninterrupted, "Uncle Trapspringer and

his bride decided they didn't want to go just any old place for their

honeymoon, so that's exactly where they went. Or tried to, anyway."

As usual, Tas was proving obtuse. "Where did they go?" Flint

asked, feigning patience. He was sorry almost the second the words

left his mouth.

Tas looked exasperated. "Really, Flint, you're not listening.

Where else would you go on your honeymoon but the moon, of course?

That's the point!"

Tanis's eyes narrowed. "They went to the moon?"

"No," Tas corrected him, "but they sure tried to. They bought a

magical potion at the Spring Faire in Kendermore. They both drank

half, closed their eyes, and thought about the moon, just like the

salesman told them to. But when Uncle Trapspringer opened his eyes, he

was still at the faire and his bride was gone! Her wedding dress was

in a heap next to him on the ground." Tas's eyes misted over. "Golly,

that story always makes me sad. Do you suppose he just didn't think

about the moon hard enough?"

"He didn't think hard enough all right, but not about the moon,"

snorted Flint as he shook a handful of wood shavings from his beard.

"She probably knew what she was getting into and ran off while his

eyes were closed, before it was too late. Surprising insight, for a

kender." "Uncle Trapspringer says she must be dead," Tas said,

"because if she weren't she would have found a way back to him by now.

But I think she's on Lunitari right this minute. I bet she's awfully

lonely. I wonder what we look like from up there?"

"At least she won't be going hungry," said Flint. "Everyone

knows that the moon is made of red cheese!" He forced the smile from

his twitching face.

"I'm not so sure," Tas said soberly. "I don't know what Lunitari

is made of, but red cheese is most unlikely. Red something, I'll

wager, but nothing so mundane or squishy as' cheese -"

Flint burst into a loud guffaw.

Tas's monologue was cut short when the heavy, oak door at the

entrance to the inn blew open and slammed against the wall with a

bang, sending early autumn leaves swirling through the taproom.

Through the doorway stepped the most unusually vivid creature any of

the three companions had ever seen. The woman, a dwarf judging by the

squatty proportions of her body, was incredibly voluptuous by that

same standard. A silky, raspberry-colored blouse that gathered at the

wrists was stretched tight across her sizable bosom, straining the

criss-crossed front laces. Below it, a canary yellow braided leather

belt cinched in her waspish waist. Her pants, made of skin-tight

purple leather, were tucked into leather boots that matched perfectly

the color of her blouse. Her lips and cheeks glowed with the same

impossibly brilliant, unnatural shade of pomegranate as her long, wavy

hair. Perched upon it at a jaunty angle was a small, plumed purple and

yellow hat.

"At last, we're here," she sighed contentedly, looking around

the inn. Hands on her hips, she struck an imperi ous pose that made

her appear taller than she was. The inn fell silent. Even the pans in

the kitchen stopped rattling. "Woodrow, come in here!" she called as

an afterthought over her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," croaked a nervous voice. A young man stepped from

behind her, carefully squeezing around her bulk so as not to intrude

on her magnificence. His sunbleached hair looked like straw that had

been cut with a bowl around his head. His nose was hawkish and strong,

as was his tall, sinewy frame. He was dressed, oddly, in gray, quilted

cotton pants and a long-sleeved, padded shirt of a type commonly worn

as protection under chain mail. His pants, obviously past their prime,

weretorn at the seams and faded. The young man's wrists dangled more

than an inch below the cuffs.

"Do stop calling me ma'am," she chided him goodnaturedly. "You

make me feel so old. And let me assure you," she continued, giving him

a seductive wink, "I'm not that old yet!"

The young man named Woodrow blushed furiously.

"Yes, ma'am," he gulped.

She looked at him for a long moment and touched his cheek

briefly. "So young... but I like them young...." She looked away

abruptly and peered into the depths of the inn, spotting Otik behind

the bar in his apron. "Yoo-hoo!" she called, fluttering her hands in

his direction. His eyes transfixed, Otik scurried to her side. "A man

so important-looking and dignified as you must be the barkeep," she

purred.

Otik's stout body jiggled to a stop, and he grinned like a

lovesick fool. "Uh, yes, I guess I am. Can I be of some assistance? A

room, perhaps? Dinner? Our food is the best in Solace -- all of

southern Ansalon!" he blathered. "I'm sure it is," she said smoothly,

"but perhaps later. Actually, I'm looking for someone. A kender named

Tasslehoff Burrfoot. I was told I might find him here."

The three companions had been watching the whole display. At the

sound of his name, Tasslehoff jumped ex citedly to his feet and raced

up to her. "That's me! I'm Tasslehoff Burrfoot! Did I win something?

Are you here to give me my prize?" He paused for a new thought. "Or

did I lose something? Did you lose something?"

"You could say that," the voluptuous dwarf said, running her

gaze over his childlike form. "Can't say I understand what all the

fuss is about," she muttered mysteriously, then latched her

surprisingly strong fingers around his bony wrist.

"You'll have to come with me now, and I'm in a bit of a hurry,"

she said, stepping toward the door. Not quite sure what was happening,

Tasslehoff draped behind her like dead weight. He dug his heels into

the floor. "Well, come along," she chided, "I haven't got all year."

With that she tugged him toward the door.

"Wait a minute!" he blurted. "Who are you? Where are you trying

to take me? You're not at all polite." The dwarf's outburst brought

Tanis and Flint to their feet, and they began making their way to

Tas's side.

The stranger seemed to recollect something. "Oops, sorry. I

forgot that part." She adopted an officious tone. "Tasslehoff

Burrfoot, you're under arrest for violating section

thirty-one-nineteen, code forty-seven, paragraph ten, sub-paragraph

something or other, of the Kender Code of Conduct." She gave

Tasslehoff's wrist a sharp yank, leaning toward the door.

"That certainly sounds serious," Tas agreed grimly, keeping his

heels planted. "What does it mean?"

"It means you broke your marriage oath. You're in big trouble,

Burrhead."

Part 1

Cpapter 1

"Oh, that!" exclaimed Tas, dismissing concern with a wave of his

hand. "I forgot all about it."

"Obviously. However, the Kendermore Council didn't. Now, stop

stalling!" the brightly clad dwarf complained, giving the kender's

wrist another sharp tug. Tas dug the fingers of his free hand into the

edge of a heavy table and refused to budge.

The red-haired dwarf stopped and turned around to face him. "I

don't want to do this, but you're really giving me no choice. Woodrow,

pick him up and carry him." But the blond young man took only one step

before Tanis's voice halted him.

"I wouldn't if I were you, boy." Stepping forward with his fists

clenched before him, the powerfully muscled half-elf looked as if he

outweighed Woodrow by at least fifty pounds. Standing next to Tanis,

Flint's face was grim and his hand rested reflexively on the hammer

that always hung at his thick waist.

"What's this all about, Tas?" Tanis asked in his sternest voice.

"I'd like the answer to that as well," Otik demanded, focusing

his irritation at the kender. "You're disturbing the peace of my inn."

He looked at his kitchen staff, including his daughter Tika, all of

whom had gathered around the bar to see what was happening.

Tas stopped his struggling. "I think this lady wants me to go

back to Kendermore and get married," he said, avoiding his friends'

eyes.

"To her?" Flint asked, his brows raised in amazement.

"Don't be insulting!" the female dwarf cried, drawing back.

"Of course not, Flint," Tas sniffed. "She's not even a kender."

"Look," Tanis said impatiently. "Would somebody tell us what's

going one" He gazed directly at the unusually vivid-looking dwarf.

"Who are you, and what's the real reason you want Tasslehoff?"

The woman regarded Tanis's handsome face with interest. Suddenly

she thrust out her hand, palm down, and said sweetly, "My name is

Gisella Hornslager. Yours?"

"Tanis Half-Elven," he responded, awkwardly returning the

woman's crushing handshake.

Gisella withdrew her hand. "As I was saying, Buzzfoot is under

arrest for breaking a marriage oath according to some kender law or

another," she said vaguely. "Now, as much as I'd like to stay and

chat," she continued, letting her gaze wander down Tanis's lean form,

a smirk on her lips, "I really must be going. Schedules to keep,

places to be, you know how it is."

Flint, who had been quite obviously staring at the woman since

her arrival, gulped in surprise. "You're a bounty hunter?"

"Oh, not specifically," she said, spinning on her heel.

"I'm in the import-export business; my motto is 'You want it, I

got it.' The Kendermore Council asked me to do this job, and I thought

'fabric, a kender -- what's the difference as long as it's portable?'"

She lifted her broad, raspberry-colored shoulders in a weary

shrug. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I really must be going. I've

got two bags of rare merganser melon out in my wagon getting riper and

costing me more money every second I delay. Kendermore's Autumn

Harvest Faire opens in a little more than a month, and that load is

worth a half-year's profits to me there. Woodrow?"

The young man stepped forward obediently and wrapped his strong

arms around the wriggling kender.

"Sorry, little fella," he mumbled.

Tanis stopped Woodrow again, this time with a hand on his arm.

The kender slid to his feet once more, twisting his vest back into

place with a disgruntled "humph!" Gisella pulled Tanis to the side,

batting two small, kohl black-lined eyes at him. "Look, friend, if

it's money you want, I'll give you half of my take for him. Fifteen

new steel pieces," she said, biting into each word as though she

enjoyed their taste.

"You've got to be kidding." Tanis sputtered, unable to

comprehend that someone was trying to buy Tasslehoff from him.

"That's more than fair!" She dropped her voice abruptly. "OK,

twenty, but that's my final offer."

"My good woman," Tanis growled, his eyes flashing black, "you

cannot buy and sell a kender like horseflesh!"

"You can't? Why not?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Because some things just aren't for sale!"

"Honey," she purred, letting her tightly clothed thigh rub

against his for a moment, "everything has a price." Tanis jerked his

leg away and took a deep breath, throwing a withering look at Flint,

who was jiggling with silent laughter. Groping for a new approach,

Tanis suggested, "Let's ask Tas what he wants to do."

Everyone turned toward the kender.

"Well, Tas?" Tanis asked. "What's this about getting married,

anyway? You never even told us you had a sweetheart."

Tasslehoff shuffled uncomfortably.

"I don't, exactly," he confessed. "See, a long time ago,

somebody suddenly noticed that there weren't many kender left in

Kendermore -- people just never got around to getting married. So some

other somebody came up with the idea of randomly assigning mates at

birth. You know, a boy and a girl are born near each other timewise in

the city, and they have to get married sometime near their thirtyfifth

birthdays. It's one of the few rules that any kender can remember.

Except me. I just forgot it."

"So there's a girl waiting in Kendermore for you to marry her?"

Flint asked, struggling to keep the smile he felt growing inside him

from showing on his face.

"I guess," Tas said morosely. "I've never met her. I think her

name begins with a 'D,' or at least it sounds like 'D.' Dorcas...

Dipilfis... Gimrod... Something like that."

Mary Kirchoff - Dragonlance Preludes I - Vol 2 - Kendermore

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