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Chapter 19: The Red Siren
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Chapter 21: The Spear-and-Oar Dance
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... like it had seen better days. At the foot of the bed, an old chest sat with an iron key in the lock, ready to be turned.
The air smelled of straw that had gotten wet too many times, the leftovers of too many fish dinners, and dried salt.
Well, home sweet home for a couple of days. He said, ducking through the door frame.
It smells funny, Selina whispered, following after him as he placed his rucksack on the bed. She padded over and pushed the bag aside to flop down on the ...
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