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... between two heart-beats. Dew hung like tiny diamonds on every fern; wisps of silver mist threaded lazily through the roots of titanic silverwood trees, their trunks wide as guard-towers and their leaves aglow with a soft lunar sheen. High overhead, branches intertwined to form a living cathedral, stray shafts of dawn pouring through the lattice and scattering coins of white-gold light across the moss.
The Lady Saintess stepped into one of those light-coins and seemed fashioned from it. E ...
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