The Cleaver approached, gliding along the Cutter too fast to stop, but close enough that Zavier could leap from one ship to the other. His face was hard, his expression unreadable as he took in the dead marroweel and the crew hauling its rear half from the water. The Guardian had his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Zavier scanned the deck, finding me in the fray. His entire body sagged. Then he looked to the Guardian again and gave him a nod. The Guardian nodded back. “Zavier.” One of his warriors waved him over to where a man was lying on his back, blood
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