Brendon. He carried a small bag. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. If he keeps his word, I'll keep mine. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. Drink, and no sustaining food.
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