15/03/2026 06:48

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You speak more tongues than I do. Alayne listened to his footsteps recede. Dust motes danced in a shaft of pale morning light. Pycelle's mouth opened and closed.

Sam donned his blacks to say the words, though the afternoon was warm and muggy, with nary a breath of wind. As he staggered to his feet, another stone slammed him in the ear. The best and the worst. I cried myself to sleep that night, and many nights thereafter.