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... rough, by the castle guards at Whitehill, had been a waste of time. She was never going to be strong enough to wrestle a soldier to the ground, and she had no intention of wearing around jack of plate and carrying a polearm. But what they had taught her to do was run.

All those afternoons of running around the walls with Piers at her heels, or of chasing down a wounded buck next to Emma and Master Forester came back to her now. The streets of Freeport were not the mountain slopes of the ...

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