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... d wall met — green and smooth, the living tendrils of the tree responding to a direction she couldn’t see being given.
They came slowly.
Not rushing, not violent, the patient deliberate movement of something guided rather than aggressive.
The first one found her right wrist.
The touch of it was warm — surprising, warm, not the cool dampness she’d expected, genuinely warm the way living wood is warm in sunlight. It circled her wrist once, twice, gentle, and then th ...
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