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_ _ _ _ _ _ She was breathless. What town was this that should have no-one running to aid in battle? A small crowd had started to form, entranced by the billowing tongues of flame. Their sickening curiosity propelled Liel onward, as if to wash their filthy clutches from her arms—she did not want to be part of them. As the flames died down, as the crowd began to dissipate, she remained. A lone figure, waiting. He would turn, and then what? The dead thug who attacked him was burnt beyond recognition, grotesque in the light of this cursed morning. She was worried for the Ethaefal, she felt him slowly draining and as she closed her eyes to inhale, she knew that he was not unfamiliar with death. He himself had— She wanted to run to him, yet was frozen in place. |