---VORLORA, APPRENTICE OF DUZSIA, DEVOTED TO LORD KLAR POV
“Do you hear anything?” whispers my Mistress.
I strain my ears. There is no need for pretence as my Mistress values truth. “No, Mistress.”
“We will have company soon. Decamp as quickly as you can. Immediately.” She claps her hands to spur me on. I gather the bedrolls, wrap the pans in one, the pots in another and dried strips of meat and other supplies in the third. Tie them off, and bind the three into one, with a loop hanging free to sling over my shoulder. I gather the spare quiver of arrows, the full and empty sheaths, and thrust them into their backpacks. The fire! I kick dirt into the flames until it dies.
“Listen now,” hisses my Mistress.
Shouts. Yelps. Howls. “Yes, Mistress, I hear their calls.”
“Are they on a hunt? Do they encourage their fellows? What can you tell me about those about to find us?”
Find us? How does she know? I swallow. I must answer her. “There is pain, Mistress. They seek death, theirs or another’s. It matters not. They are in a living misery.” As I say the words, my blood turns to water. If they care little for their lives, what will they care for ours? “Mistress, how do you know they head our way?”
She grabs a couple of backpacks and marches them to the rear of the clearing, and I follow with as much as I can carry.
“They are coming our way because their yelling is getting louder. There can be only one reason for them to be in such pain.” She looks through me. “Can you give me that one reason?”
Many thoughts rattle around in my head, but one keeps surfacing. The obvious. “Luda?”
“No, and yes. Luda Bloodstalker. Not the crazy one we know with her annoying teasing of us. The kind that has been taking from them, what I don’t know. But she has discovered something of value, and now that loss hurts them to their very being.”
I swallow. Surely not? She can’t have, but I can’t think of anything else. “Their children? Their wives?”
My Mistress straightens and grabs my shoulders. “I can’t believe she has done that foul deed, but she has done something as deep.”
I help her stack, and we are quickly done—one bundle for each of my arms and a backpack for each of my shoulders.
“Now you must listen and obey. Forget trying to understand.” I nod. “When I say go, you gather the camp goods and sprint back to our previous camp. Don’t hesitate. You don’t concern yourself about Luda or me.”
“Yes, Mistress, but what will become of me if I lose you?”
“Luda is mad, but not suicidal. Well, I don’t think so. This is more of a game for her, I hope, but I don’t want you to be caught by it. So, when I tell you to run, you run.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She slaps my shoulder. “Smile. Combat awaits. Remember your training. Stab your sword here and lean your shield against your leg. Nock, an arrow, stab a second beside your sword. Two releases and then shift to Sword and Shield stance. Don’t try for a third release. You are to protect my flank. You understand?”
I nod. “Yes, Mistress.” I stab my sword into the ground. “Are we going to die?”
“Only if we are foolish or Luda has badly misjudged our foes.”
An arrow stands beside my sword. I hold my shield longer than needed to calm my trembling hand and jump as my Mistress cups my cheek. Her lips are on mine before I can protest or welcome them. When she broke the kiss, I didn’t have the presence of mind to act, just enough awareness to feel the loss of their moist warmth.
“I could have slapped you instead. Perhaps I will next time.” She throws her head back and chuckles and then snaps her mouth shut. “Ready yourself, Apprentice. Nock your arrow, but don’t release at Luda. You will probably anger her.”
Luda bursts into our clearing as I fumble to nock the arrow. I realise, even while talking, my Mistress didn’t fail to listen. Even while I reminisce over my first kiss, she is alert for danger. With purpose, I nock an arrow and draw the bowstring.
“Their blood is up, sister-wife. Their anger is raw and free. Reckless and foolhardy, they howl for my death. Time to test your apprentice, time to test yourself,” screams Luda Bloodstalker as she gallops towards us, her head high and her bloodied weapons higher.
Two goblins are hard on her heels, yet she is oblivious or seems like she is. So, I release. Given the force in my release, the first goblin tumbles backwards, the arrow striking our enemy deep in their chest. The second goblin runs into the downward swing of my Mistress’ sword as Luda runs a line towards her. Luda’s head peeks out behind Duzsia, my Mistress, as if she is playing a child’s game. She catches my eye.
“More are coming, sweet apprentice.” She winks.
At that moment, I remember. I throw my bow onto the camp goods, equip my shield, and reach to jerk my sword free. Their howls hasten me into action. I notice Luda stand, two daggers at the ready on the far side of Duzsia, not entirely protecting her flank as I understand such things, something different.
A group of five burst into the clearing. One charges me, the other four charge Luda, yet my Mistress stands in their way unless they want to circle her by re-entering the forest, but they are beyond thinking…
My shield not only defends but thrusts at my enemy’s wild swing, and I catch his curved sword and shoulder, an opening for my sword thrust. I aim for his chest as my Mistress has taught me, trained me to. A bigger target, half a hit, is better than an attempt at a spectacular miss.
Blood dribbles from his mouth, his last howl dying in his throat, and for some reason, I add my vomit to the bloody mess at my feet. I wipe my mouth and stare at my Mistress. Her sword and arm are one stabbing, curving, deflecting, dealing death while her shield flashes about her, catching the blows that would otherwise injure her. Luda cackles in the background, throwing taunts at any of the goblins waiting to die on my Mistress’ sword.
The battle rages on, and I protect my Mistress’s flank. Luda calls the goblins to her, and Duzsia, my Mistress, dances, dealing death to intercept our tormented foes. In a brief break, I witness the incredible. Duzsia knows where Luda is, moves to allow her to strike, and then covers off any counterstrike with her shield. As Duzsia dances forward to work her way inside the guard of a larger goblin, Luda counterstrikes at the arms of others, holding swords that attempt cowardly strikes.
“Run!”
The voice of my Mistress and I catch her eyes. She is angry with me, for me. This isn’t the first time she has spoken. I gather the goods and backpacks. Without a last look, I run. My legs carry me out of the clearing and into the forest. The howling and anguish doesn’t diminish. The crashing through the forest sounds in my ears. There is too much of that noise… I drop the camp goods and backpacks, and then a goblin leaps on top of me. His claws rip down my face, and I scream, not in fright, but in anger. I know I have failed my Mistress. Dropping my sword, I unsheathe my dagger and stab upwards as his claws strike at my face again. Twisting the blade free, I push his body off me in time to spot another diving at me. I snatch my sword up and, using his weight and charge against him, run him through. My sword, now a goblin skewer, I lean to one side, and the corpse slides off. I have my sword back and crouch behind available cover.
No others pop up. I gather the camp goods and backpacks. One last glance about, and I dart off.
Something at reckless speed slams into my lower body, knocking the wind from my lungs and splaying camp goods and backpacks around me. I try to raise my hands to shield my face from his dagger and fail. The straps of the backpacks hold them in place. I am at his mercy, and his eyes clear momentarily as he aims for my eye. Why my eye? Then his head sails off his shoulders.
“Get up, apprentice. If you fall behind me, you are on your own.”
I shake the straps into place and am up and running after my Mistress. Her shield crashes through the foliage, and I use the path she creates.
“When I order you to run, you run. Disobey me again, and I will gut you.”
I can’t draw enough breath to reply. Yet, she can find the breath to yell at me without breaking stride.
Eventually, we burst into a familiar clearing, and she heads for the hidden door in the brambles. She opens the way and allows me to run in at full speed. I crash to the ground and release all the camp goods and backpacks. My legs ache, yet I must climb to my feet. With a gentle push, her hand is on my forehead, and her finger crosses her lips.
Howling approaches and then flows around us. I have many questions, yet I dare not speak until spoken to, and instead, I concentrate on my breathing and recovery. Blood oozes down my cheek. I don’t tend to it as it reminds me of my folly.
My Mistress’ face is in front of mine. Her eyes study every portion of my face. She whispers, “I am wondering if you are worth saving if you wish to know. Fortunately for you, I am still undecided.”
Her face vanishes from before me. I am about to open my mouth to speak.
“Up apprentice and quietly to arms. There is a wolf about to discover us. Back-to-back in that bramble tunnel.” Her arm flashes by my eyes. I ease my arms free, grab my sword and shield, and slowly follow.
The bramble gate’s removal is the first clue, and then the howling resumes. Fortunately for me, my Mistress defends us in that direction. I don’t look. If I am stabbed in the back, so be it.
“Shuffle back, Apprentice. The pile of dead at my feet is too high and sprawling into my footwork.”
Her back caresses mine, and we move further down the bramble tunnel as one. Somehow, the intimacy reminds me of our brief kiss and yet, how? Our supple leather armour prevents skin contact. Then I realise what the trigger is. Her buttocks and shoulder blades kiss mine. They nudge my body, and with token resistance on my part, her back envelops mine, and I am in bliss.
I swear under my breath. Time and place! I give more ground; we shuffle faster.
“Hold, Apprentice.” As a reward, our backs kiss once again. The ripple and undulation are sensational, yet my eyes remain open, and my ears strain to listen.
My curiosity calls for answers. I ignore the call; my Mistress will speak when she needs to.
Silence passes. Impatience calls for answers. I am in the zone now, alert, attentive and following the orders of my Mistress. Sweat trickles down my temples and between my cleavage. They are nothing; I decide.
My Mistress’ back shifts. The ripple of her muscles undulates. I know the cause. I know the reason. The urge to jump in celebration, I force it down. She is hefting her sword and shield, readying for another onslaught.
Chanting crashes against my hearing. This isn’t rage or individual howling. They are being directed and commanded. I need to squeeze my loins shut. Otherwise, I will embarrass myself. I discard the distraction and concentrate on hearing anything but the chanting. The deliberate isn’t the danger. They are covering for something…
A rustle of brambles. My Mistress’ back pushes out on her right. She is swivelling in that direction, which exposes her left. I must cover her flank! I swivel to my right. Two dark eyes stare up at me; without thinking, my sword stabs at them. The sword tip hits the bone, and the reverberation travels up my sword. His howl of pain is faint as I withdraw my blade to strike down again. The second strike stabs his neck, and he howls no more. His bloodless spear lies beside his prone body.
Our backs separate for several heartbeats. One thunk and then a second. Then her warmth returns, and we are as one.
Our game of nerves continues. I listen and then strike. This began at dawn; now dusk is fast approaching, yet my Mistress is quiet. If she is calm, she expects me to be the same. The only change? Our backs are now an intimate amalgamation. I feel her every move, which means she must feel mine… Warmth spreads to my face, and I know my breathing increases…
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A howl of pain marks the end of dusk and the beginning of the night.
Her warm breath caresses my ear as she whispers, “We need to move. When I find your bow and quiver, hold on to them. Every step requires us to move as one. Can you do this, my apprentice?”
I nod. Then as the separation grows, I thrust towards her back, and we are again one. As each step is taken, we negotiate a rhythm. The rhythm becomes a dance in no time; I sheath my sword as I have a bow and quiver in hand.
A scream rends the peace of the night.
“Hand me your bow and quiver and stand before me, sword and shield ready.”
I follow my Mistress’ order.
“Crouch slightly.” I sink to lower my centre. There is nothing unusual about this. “Good.”
Her loins contact my buttocks. “We need to be one again. You will trust my eyes and step as my hips guide you. I will release arrows close to your ears, but you need not be concerned.”
She thrusts forward, and a wave of pleasure rolls through my loins. I gulp and edge ahead. How am I to survive this closeness? My heart is already trying to jump free of my chest.
One release and then a questioning grunt. A second release and then silence. Her hips and loins urge me forward. After several more releases, I realise we are at the brambles’ entrance, the gentle night breeze drying off my sweat. The darkness isn’t complete under the night sky, and several goblin-sized lumps lay prone before us. They have set up camp in front of the brambles. Before I can panic, my Mistress places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me lower. I am squatting when her hand leaves my shoulder. Her thigh replaces her hand, and I brace to take the weight. I understand her intent when her other thigh swings over and lands on my other shoulder. I blink out the obvious. Her loins are edging forward to rest on the back of my neck while her feet hook under my arms and behind my back. There isn’t any further change, and her thighs close for a heartbeat and then release.
I push up, my thigh muscles bunch, and in a slow and steady movement, I fully stand, my Mistress on my shoulders.
Methodically she releases an arrow into each prone, and I assume, sleeping bundle. The releases are not at full draw. We are two to three body lengths away from each target. Her thighs guide me forward, manoeuvre left or right as and when required. She needed the height to target their eyes; I am sure. Brain death is more instant than heart death and, if accurate, requires less penetration.
“You make an excellent stead, my Apprentice, but it is time to make haste.” As a last intimate bonus, she guides me to look left. Bouncing about in the forest are several torches. Another group of goblins approaches the brambles. Maybe I was too pre-emptive. She doesn’t jump free of my shoulders. She slides one thigh off, wraps an arm across my chest, squeezing my bosoms, then swings her other thigh off and slides down my back. Her movement is careful, cautious, and sensual. She must know she is driving me crazy. Her hands grab mine, and I almost release my water. Instead, she distracts me by pulling me after her. We enter the brambles, recover our gear and return to the entrance hand in hand. Her eyes are my eyes. I have no choice but to press the flesh of my hand into the flesh of her hand, and I am in bliss.
We skirt around the sleeping dead, and she finds or remembers a game trail, and I follow her blindly. She squeezes my hand to warn me of uneven ground or an obstacle. I watch the bounce of her buttocks to determine the difference. Not an unpleasant task by any measure.
I hear, and I am confident she did well before me. A stream flows ahead. Our pace increases until we reach the shore. I follow her as she chases the downward flow of the stream. After what seems to be half the night, she stops and draws me by the hand to stand in front of her. She leans forward, and I think, now? Am I ready for a second kiss?
Her warm breath on my ear awakens me. “I will hoist you up, reach for the branch, and then I will boost you the rest of the way. It is thick, and you should be able to crawl along the length to reach the trunk. Once there, climb until you feel unsafe climbing any further.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Her hands turn my body until I face away from her. I hear her take a deep breath. Her hands are on my hips, and my body rises. My hands grab into the night until they curl over the tree limb, as she said to expect. Her hands shimmy down my thighs, and I have trouble breathing, yet I drag my torso forward and more completely on the limb as her hands push my boots up. I swing a leg over the branch and caterpillar until I reach the trunk. When I touch the trunk, I wonder how my Mistress will follow and look over my shoulder.
Our faces are a finger width apart, and I hold my breath.
“You look like you have seen a ghost,” she says.
I remember to breathe. I don’t want to turn away. With a minimal closing of the distance, our lips can once again join.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks. What am I waiting for? Courage? The perfect ending? Acceptance? I feel my water is readying to burst…
I lean forward and steal her lips with mine. She doesn’t retreat. The coward I am, I break the kiss first because I must know.
“Now is not the time, Apprentice, but the right time won’t be long. Now climb. Steady mind, I don’t want to haul your broken body up this tree, as I would lose too much sleep time.”
Not rejection, well, not yet. With renewed energy, I climb, and only when I feel a tug on my boot do I stop and look down into the dark and spy her body shape nestling into a fork of the tree. I contemplate joining her, yet there is only room for one, and I find another.
I am awake because of a conversation. I don’t know how long they have talked, yet both seem relaxed.
“We hunted in the brambles until night and then released arrows into the sleeping and found this stream and this tree,” says my Mistress.
“In their confusion, I managed to assassinate two more Troop Leaders. I am certain Izga would be envious. Then hit-and-run slayings to make them believe we were a bigger force than we were. After discovering your kills, they scrambled back to their original camp, doubled the perimeter guards, and tried to sleep without dreaming of death, I would think.”
“How did you know where to find us?”
Luda chuckles. Her laughter seems normal, mirthful. How can she be so normal now? “I told you I used a stream to avoid their wolves, so I was hopeful you used the same.” She shrugs. “This is the nearest stream, and I hoped you waded downstream as I did.” She chuckles again. “Fortunately, your snoring led me to your tree.”
A slap on leather. “I don’t snore.”
“Must have been your Apprentice then.” I feel a slap on my shin. “We know you are awake and listening, so join the conversation.”
I open an eye and then a second. Luda isn’t with my Mistress.
“Up here.”
I look up, and hanging upside-down above me is Luda, her legs wrapped around a tree limb.
Before I can explain, she says, “When you wake, your breathing rate increases, and I have a bird’s eye view.”
“With four Troop Leaders and a significant number of the mercenaries dead, the remaining Oath Keepers should be contrite enough when they meet and negotiate with Lord Klar, I would think,” says my Mistress.
“I agree, our job is done,” adds Luda and then she and my Mistress stare at me.
Do they expect me to agree, disagree, or remain silent? What?
“Shouldn’t we confirm the Troop Leaders are dead? I mean, if they were important, wouldn’t they bury them with a meaningful ceremony?”
They both chuckle until they tear up with laughter. My fists ball up, and I know my face flushes. They are making fun of me, and they are being so unfair!
“She is smart. Perhaps her earlier lapses were because of your poor teaching?” says Luda, raising an eyebrow.
“Poor teaching? Maybe. She is, after all, my first Apprentice.”
“Or could we find the truth between her thighs?” Luda taps the side of her nose. “On her lips? Her heavy breathing?”
My loins are on fire, my lips need the taste of my Mistress’, and I can’t control my breathing. Curse Luda.
“Lord Klar did caution me about such Apprentice-Mistress infatuation. Unfortunately, I have kissed her twice, which could mean she is the injured party. She is within her rights to break her Apprenticeship with me and find another.” My Mistress hangs her head down, which shakes slowly from side to side.
No. What is she saying? I scramble down and land in her lap. My hands are on her cheeks, and as soon as her lips present themselves, my hunger knows no bounds as I slobber and suck on them as I lack any technique.
After a time, her firm hands hold my head away from hers, forcing our lips apart. “We need to expand your Apprenticeship to include some intimate skills. For now, you must restrain yourself as we must discuss this with Lord Klar, as he is much my Master as I am your Mistress.”
My body shakes. I remember my oath to him. An oath I had so soon forgotten…
“Be still. He is not cruel or a monster unless you betray him, and in matters of the heart, he is most forgiving.”
I can only manage a curt nod.
“I will visit the goblin camp and determine our level of success or failure. Continue to follow this stream until it joins another larger stream or river. Settle in a good place to hide, and I will follow as soon as possible. After two days and one night, you better try to find me. If captured, I will be on my best behaviour to remain a live prisoner instead of a dead one.”
I look up into her eyes. “How can you talk light of your potential fate? I am certain Lord Klar would mourn your death, as would my Mistress… and I.”
“You are kind, but this life has been difficult for me, and especially for those around me. I am under no illusions and live as if my next breath is my last.” She withdraws into herself for several heartbeats, which I don’t interrupt as I am certain she wishes to say more. “I found my sister recently, and as quickly as I found her, I lost her. If she was still with me, I might value my life more highly.” She drops onto our tree fork and then leaps into my lap. Our eyes meet. Mine wide open, and then she steals a kiss.
Before I can react, she scampers down the tree trunk and tiptoes across the tree limb hanging over the stream. She hangs from the limb with an athletic flip and then drops into the stream. With a wave, she sprints upstream, favouring the far bank. The curve of the stream carries her out of sight.
---
We didn’t continue downstream. My Mistress gave Luda a head start, and we followed with only our weapons. There was a fatalistic resignation in Luda’s voice, my Mistress said. While Luda could throw this life away, Lord Klar’s orders were to disrupt the mercenaries by slaying their leadership and the return—something which Luda could easily do, quietly and without a fuss.
I glance at my Mistress, her eyes studying the mercenary camp with an intensity I can only hope to develop. They are gathering the bodies of their dead—goblins in one massive mound and wolves in another taller, colossal heap. The animals are bigger than goblins, yet their count is greater. Luda must have slain them instead of the rider, as broken, impaled arrow shafts remain as evidence. Their wolf mounts must mean more to them than transport or battle mounts. Given the howling pain and reckless charging, they must develop a bond of some sort.
Her hand grasps my wrist. “Wolf crap!” cries my Mistress. My eyes follow hers, and after a while, I notice goblins falling to the ground like broken dolls. “Luda is looking to kill as many as she can before they notice her and…”
A tear rolls down my Mistress’ face. I don’t understand.
“Stay here, whatever happens. You must report back to Lord Klar, so don’t disobey.” She tugs on my arm, and our faces are a finger-width apart. “Don’t disobey,” she growls.
I swallow and snap out a nod.
My Mistress crept into the camp, much like I assumed Luda had. Most goblins left or returned in groups, their minds on retrieving their dead. Luda and my Mistress then worked as a team, a dance of blades, knowing exactly where the other was, dealing with death to the parties of goblins returning burdened by grief and corpses. As fewer returned, more goblins banded together, hunting. Luda and my Mistress would break out whenever they thought they had them surrounded before they closed their circle. The trail of dead mercenaries grew as dawn reached late morning.
Luda bolted, breaking free. She, like I, search for my Mistress. Goblins surround her. She didn’t follow Luda. Blood sprays forth, and goblins fall away. Luda looks to fight her way towards my Mistress and the goblins, realising their opportunity surrounds her. One massive goblin takes an interest and barks orders.
The goblins around my Mistress retreat, and I can see her. Lines of pain cut across her face. Blood boils from her skin. She staggers one step forward, striking a wild, desperate swing with her sword. The goblins retreat, possibly one of their few leaders, waved them away. I strain my ears.
“Her blood betrays her, impure. See how her flesh is being eaten?” The goblins howl in triumph. “We are oath Keeper, and our blood is pure and strong.”
Something drains the life of my Mistress. Her skin ripples and shrinks. She screams. Her shield arm breaks off, the snap that of a dry twig. She can’t look. Her pale, dry neck cannot turn. Then her body collapses to dust. Hollow armour crashes to the ground.
Silence. The mercenaries have Luda, blood dripping from multiple wounds, bound and struggling. Her body goes limp when her eyes find what was once my Mistress.
---
Branches slap my face, yet I keep running. I must honour my Mistress’ last command and report to Lord Klar. Could I have helped Luda? Each of my strides slaps wet on wet. I lost my water when I lost my Mistress. My sword and shield are one thousand steps away by now. I am no warrior…
---LORD KLAR POV
I throw mud at Zergoa, her breast wrap and loin cloth already dirty. She launches herself at me, and we both fall into the wet mud at our feet.
“Enough, Master.”
We giggle and spot my Chief Scribe looking down at us.
“We wait for another load of timber, you taskmaster,” says Zergoa, who then pouts.
“Lord Klar made me overseer, and I intend to see this, erm, project through.”
“Did you hear what she just said, Husband? See the project through!” Zergoa slaps her thigh while her laughter echoes down our now substantial tunnel.
We must be under the river by now. No water drips from the ceiling, yet at our feet, heavy mud settles, nevertheless. The beginnings of our first tunnel, as Lord Torngul recommended. His last words on departure repeated the need.
The wood bracing is a precaution as until now, the deeper we dug, the more compact the aggregate became, and the more effort required. All my wives except Duzsia and Luda took turns labouring, my Chief Scribe recording their efforts, including mine. As far as everyone not involved knew, we dug to make a new well.
A deep, guttural scream rings out, drawing all our attention. A glance at each other, and then, bouncing to our feet, we bolt towards the source. The entrance. Did someone ambush my wives? No, there was only one scream. But we would need three to handle the logs, one to lower, then two below to carry the bundle…
The midday sunlight spread from above, pure and revealing. At the furthest end, under the most sunlight, the silhouette of Klaria, blood oozing across her skin, then drying.
I am the first to arrive. Zergoa and Solgia line up behind me, trying to see past me.
“Stay back,” she whispers. The bundle of logs in her hands weighs on her arms, and her wrists crack away, now dry husks before my eyes.
“Husband?”
I glance at Izga. Her hands are drying. I can see the march of the withering consume her wrists. Holding her arm down on the log, I grab a shovel and smash the blade across healthy skin, flesh, and bone below the elbow. She screams. I do likewise to her other arm. Blood spurts from the stumps. Then trickles.
Klaria’s mouth opens to scream, yet no sound escapes between her lips. I step forward and swing the shovel. Her now decapitated head hits the side of the well wall we initially dug out with a splat. From the neck down, her frame quietly collapses into dust.
An itch draws my ire. Sunlight shines on my lower arms and bald head. I can’t reach the scratch because it is below the skin, in my flesh. I step back into the shadow of the tunnel. My mouth dries.
“Back. Back down the tunnel. There is something wrong with the sunlight.” I choke down a yelp, trying to escape my lips. My blood boils. I exert my will on my nanorobots, maybe half, heed my call. Within my body, nanorobots fight with nanorobots, each trying to consume the other. I drop to my knees as my life energy fades. I glance at the dust that was once Klaria, and while I don’t know why, I believe her nanorobots have consumed her water. Once done, her flesh, in essence, has been destroyed. Izga stares at the ooze of blood thickening at the ends of her arms. She is speechless, eyes wide open, while sweat runs off her forehead.
I look up and see the tunnel aggregate overhead, of course, instead of Thalgora. She lowered the bundles of wood from the edge of the well on this otherwise pleasant sun-shining day, the first in a good while.
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