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... as maybe eight or nine, lying face-down in the dirt, her dress made ragged by branches and stained by mud. The hole in her throat that THAT ONE OF BLADES had opened was still oozing sap. If she was not already dead, she would be soon. THAT ONE OF BLADES did not know how it felt about that.

This was the distant past, of course, but it was also happening now. To a Fell Beast like IONIR YGDRASSIL, there was little distinction between memories and the present. Both of them existed within it ...

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