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... endlessly agitated creatures that attacked anything that moved. Not once had fear so much as touched him.

But now, standing on a rocky hill with the wind tugging at his cloak, he felt it.

Not the heart-racing panic of the untrained. Not hesitation. But the quiet, instinctive fear that came when facing something far beyond your strength. A threat that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise despite every battle he’d survived.

And the strange part? It wasn’t one weaver ...

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