Chris

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The First Shore. Where we began— A glimmer between the boles, flashes of white— Brother and sister rode clear of the forest. The horses beneath them slowed, halted as the reins grew slack, lifeless. With red-smeared vision, silence like a wound, they stared, uncomprehending. The First Shore.
Dust of Dreams (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #9)
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