“You will learn!” He struck the staff upon the ground, and an echoing strike slammed against her ears. “You have no choice!” “You will be silent, old man!” Her scream echoed through the forest and shook snow from the leaves. A cry echoed hers, the aching grumble of a troll awakened from its slumber. “Oh,” he said. “So you are one of those.” “What did you say?” “We call your breed of druid a ‘Weaver.’” Sorcha shook her head. “What are you talking about?” “A Weaver’s purpose is to tie together the lives of druid and Fae. To link those of us who keep watch over the land and its people. It is a
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