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... was Fred, his dear best friend. The face was older than he remembered, slightly rugged and worn around the edges. His green hair flowing down his sides to his shoulders was unkempt, unorderly, and downright messy. Lines, not harsh enough to be called wrinkles, stretched across his forehead, faint but distinct, mapping out the tale of his endless trials and tribulations over the long years. The distinct scar that once covered half of his forehead started to wrinkle as his left yellow eye raised h ...
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