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Abitha began to hum, to sing a song without words, the crickets, frogs, and toads all lending their voices. The night felt to her a living thing; she felt its breathing, its pulse. She moaned, drinking in its intoxicating sweetness, laughed, then sang, then laughed some more. She’d not slept for going on two days now, and she let her delirium take her.
Slewfoot: A Tale of Bewitchery
by Brom
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