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“Why did the witch storm hit him so bad?” Char asked fearfully. “Because he’s an ass,” Andulvar growled in reply.
Lucivar took another mouthful and shrugged. “Cooking isn’t that difficult.” Then he looked up and wondered if a grown man had ever been beaten to death with a soup spoon.
“Witch-child, go terrify someone else for a while.”
“Liver?” Lucivar asked. “Only if it’s yours,” she snapped,

