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They hug their camps, he whispered. Galain nodded. We have stung them enough that they seek the warmth of their campfires. The late spring evening mist shrouded the area, mantling the Tsurani camp in haze.
. . well, you know . . . until I met Olie. Shoulders like an ox, that one. Got a pretty little gal he married, too. He's got a bit of a temper, though, and dont much like to be told what to design.