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Chapter 9: Brothers in Death
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Chapter 11: Bramble Wolves and New Skills
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... ets of most towns, the dull afternoon sun of Withercrook hanging above the crooked trees and ancient, brooding hills.
The ground was stony, the air stale, tasting of dust and forgotten things.
Percival’s boots crunched the stones, a metronome in the quiet.
His long shadow preceded him down a crooked path, past stalls where a few stubborn traders still advertised their wares.
They fell silent as he passed, their eyes tracking the wanderer and the unnatural chill th ...
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