Wren

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And as the champion stood, boots firm on the ground, howling to the sky, I knew at once that he’d never been mine at all. He was a thing of the earth. He belonged to the streams and the deserts and the darkness. To the sound of thunder and the whispers of the ocean as it clawed the shore. To the rain that fell when the sun was still blazing, to the grime clenched between my fingers.
The Wicker King (The Wicker King, #1)
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