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... e Me deal with re-negotiating his magical leash.
My room now looked like a noble library after a tornado made of scales and feelings had rolled through it. Pillows were skewered. Books were nudged to dangerous angles on their shelves. My enchanted ink pot had somehow ended up inside one of Smaug's nostrils (he claimed it was for "storage"), and my favorite quill now rested tragically beneath his wing.
But Smaug was curled around me like a living wall of warm iron. One of his wing ...
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