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... with leech guts between his toes and the river at his back. Her skin was pale where it wasn’t bruised, and most of it was bruised.
The river had taken everything.
Her plumage armor, the layered greens and greys that made her blend into the canopy.
The breastplate she kept vials clipped under. Boots, belt, whatever she’d had strapped to her thighs. All of it downstream or at the bottom.
The bird-of-prey helmet was gone too.
He had never seen her face.
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