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... ting long, eerie shadows over the cracked asphalt road. Dayat dragged his feet. His feet were blistered, his throat dry, and his stomach was rumbling again, demanding the portion of roasted tuber that had run out this morning.
Dola, on the other hand, walked with the tireless rhythm of a machine. Her rough tarp cloak fluttered gently in the evening wind, hiding the futuristic curves that were both the source of their problems and their strength.
"Estimated distance to city gate: ...
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