With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. ‘I knows how to do better nor any surgeon. “What’s that for?” He said.
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