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... jecting it out of spite.
Lindarion stood at the back of the inn, just outside the kitchen door. He held the edge of a cracked wooden bowl in one hand. The other rubbed at his temple like it might dislodge the headache that hadn't gone away since the funeral.
Ashwing crouched near the stone wall, tongue flicking out every few seconds. Steam rose faintly from the ground around him. The dirt was dry. Not burned. Not wet. Just… dry. Like nothing wanted to be near the heat.
Th ...
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~ End this testimonial
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