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... r rubbing mud across his face—some of it even managing to get into his mouth.
Grabbing his collar, he rubbed the inside of his shirt against his lips, then dragged it across his tongue, letting out a long, disgusted "aaaahhh!" in the process.
Only to drop it, cough, and spat again—to gag harder after realizing the shirt itself tasted like salty lemon smeared in poop.
Yuck.
Majestria’s situation, meanwhile, had only gotten worse. The winged little freaks were tuggi ...
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