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"Ninny, how many times have I told you not to bring your hands up that fast," Shazimner said from a pile of hay in Nina's family's barn.

"Yeah, yeah. And how many times have I told you not to call me Ninny?" Nina retorted as she pulled Shazimner out of the hay.

"Nina!" Nina's father called. "Where are you?"

"Practicing my swordsman ship in the barn," she hollered back. Her father stepped into the barn.

"Nina," he said, "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?"

"Like chittering about the pretty dress in the store and how much you want it?" Shazimner suggested.

"And anyone better to spend your time with?" Her father sighed. "Nina, I got you a dress for the fair this friday, if you're interested." Nina dropped Shazimner and ran forward to hug her father.

"Oh, sure. Don't worry about the sword," Shazimner mumbled.

"Really, father?" Nina asked. He nodded. "Oh, thank you!"