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... l into the mud and wrote on a board of wood. Each stroke, despite taking a minute each, was sloppy. Doevm clicked his tongue and wiped the mud off on his raggedy shirt. After a few more minutes he could barely make out the words: Day three. Rena had been so overprotective that he barely got a chance to practice his writing. He broke his quill and threw the board to the ground. 'When,' he thought. 'When will I escape this hell? When can I learn to fight?' He shivered and brought his rags closer t ...

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