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I found him standing beside the warlord’s piktu, his head poking out from a cluster of brown ferns. Their curly fronds covered much of him, but not that arm he lifted, stroking his knuckles over Samara’s cheek. It was gentle, tender, loving. Until she slapped him.
“Why chase acceptance from people who refuse to give it, if it requires you to abandon those who give it unconditionally?”
“It’s a great thing to find someone who accepts you the way you are. But it’s a blessing if that person helps you to accept yourself.”

