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... sluggishness of an old river. For thirty-one days, they had known little but the forward motion of weary feet. Orkell watched them from his position beside Elder Lamna. He felt the weight of the eleven surviving men’s spears and the responsibility for every life in the column. Their patchwork leather and cloth armor chafed against his skin, worn thin by hunger and stress. The sound of their footsteps was a dull whisper against the soft dirt path.
Lamna walked with a calm that Orkell coul ...
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