We catch up to Scythe, who is casually strolling down the pavement, with Eugene unhappily trailing behind him. Ducking my head down in the way of predators, I sneak up to the chicken and pounce, plucking him right off the pavement. He squawks in terror and pecks at my hand, but I hold him safe against my chest and make gentle clucking sounds. He calms down and Scythe turns to look at me expectantly. Lifting my nose to the summer air, I stalk forwards, scenting what’s on the wind. The breeze is cool, though the air is hot. It smells like roasting eagle, smoke, and food cooking in the cafes
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