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Chapter 16: Only Power Can’t Make A Warrior
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Chapter 18: Glimpse of reality
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... se," Harold began, his voice gruff and level. "Your grandfather gave him to me when I was your age. I called him Storm. He was strong, intelligent, and faster than any wind. I rode him every morning and brushed his coat until it shone like polished chestnut.".
Luther listened wide-eyed as Harold’s gaze drifted toward the dark window, as if the memory itself waited outside.
"But life changed,"
Harold went on.
"Your grandfather fell ill—so ill he could barely walk. ...
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