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Again the thing struck, and there was a crack in the ethereal fabric. The laughter died, deflated into a whimper. Fear spread through our men like a fire. The akar picked up where we left off, not with chants or jeering of their own, but with the beating of their war drums from within the forest. It was the beating of a heart which spoke for them—the heart of an animal.
Eleventh Cycle (Mistland, #1)
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