“I imagine scars this pronounced are difficult to ignore.” Behind them, the inn door opened, releasing the noise inside, which became muted again as the door slammed shut. The inn was settling for the night, and the yard was quiet but for them and the owl. “Yet why should we ignore them?” she asked. “I do not wish to pretend your scars are not there. Our scars are our stories, and stories should be told.” “Then my story must be a frightening one, to match my face.” “But that’s it.” She stepped closer to him. “The attack must have been horrific, but now you seem so strong and fearless, and I
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