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... ith the smell of dense salt. It lingered on my nose. Strands of black hair swooshed past these pair of hardened, yellow eyes that had witnessed more death in a week than most had seen in a lifetime. The boat we were on was owned by a man named Rickard, who jumped overboard when that lion roared at him. The city-state of Plymoise, Parthina, was his destination—something we discovered after finding charter documents hidden in a bedroll.

Dad and I laid on the deck after anchoring the boat f ...

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