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... weating bullets. The slight rustle of my old girl's dried up branches calmed me down, but not by much.
Theanore always tried to give comfort to others. Marinus's sea horn, safely tucked in Theanore's roots, was glowing. I could sense it.
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"Mael," I said, as I began to pile up his plate with baked apples. Hoping that it would be enough to keep his two-handed axe on the grass. "You owe me a story."
If there was one thing ...
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