”Cuthbert mounted up. The wind made a lonely soughing sound as it combed through the firs on either side of the pipe. The wind gusted, belling the fronts of their serapes. Putting bullets in my ears, he thought.
In a speaking ring not far from the Portal of the Bear, time is mended, paradox is ended, and the real third is at last drawn. If this was what growing up was like, he thought he could have skipped the experience. Lovely moon! I saw it when she sent me for the wood. There’s enough starlight to read by.
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