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Joachim’s cheek couldn’t stop twitching as diminutive Goblin forms scurried back and forth through the camp, delivering firewood, food and, for some reason, dirt. Their settlement had been reorganised into something that resembled an army camp, their crude lean-tos and litters radiating from the tents of Lady Zahradnik’s bodyguard.
“‘ey, Ward.”
He turned a half-dead stare to his left, where Pol, Merg and Igvel were standing watch over their camp supplies.
“ ...
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