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... hings that had ruined the human capital.
Just burning.
Lindarion’s hands stayed curled tight on the grips, his shoulders locked stiff.
Ashwing said nothing.
Not yet.
He dipped lower, wings wide, slow. A glide instead of a dive.
Every shift in the wind brought more smoke into Lindarion’s lungs.
’Where are the sentries? The lookouts?’
There were always elves stationed at the outer balconies. Always someone watching the skies.
...
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