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Chapter 39Book 3: : New Purpose
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... ight, it is the trees that are burned.
- A Quassian aphorism.
Through a raised visor, I munched on some laverbread, the flavor almost an afterthought for me. Encased in solid steel, I felt more confident and safe. Skipping beside me, Larynda was her usual whirlwind of effervescence. She had decided to wear a dagger at her waist and took with her one of the wooden practice staves I had bought for her long ago. The staff looked a little different now, strange symbols were carved up ...
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