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... e mountain floor, not with fear but with respect.

The golden-furred ones stood silent in the mist, their massive leonine bodies unmoving, eyes like molten brass fixed on us. They weren’t breathing, not like we do, but I could feel their judgment settle on my skin like ash. Flora and I bowed low anyway, foreheads to the black stone, our hands splayed wide in the old vow. Not for us. For what we’d protected.

"For your mercy," I murmured, and the wind carried it into the rock." Than ...

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