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... and the vague smell of blood, cinnamon, and something that had definitely pissed on a wizard’s robe.
I opened one eye. The glowing fox was still there.
It stared back with all three of its glowing, fox-shaped eyes. No blinking. No twitching. Just that predator gaze like it was deciding whether my intestines would pair better with morning dew or mushroom gravy.
"Good morning!" Sir Galrik bellowed at full hero volume, slapping a frying pan onto a rock like it owed him mone ...
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