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... kin shifts at will—fur rising, bones melding and reshaping in an instant, obeying a will no one can tame. A will so indomitable that none could hope to control it. I am the last of the Touched, the original pact, and therefore our best hope of surviving this war alive.
It doesn't feel that way. Each day I wake to more dead. The hope is gone. It fled with the blessings we once enjoyed as one of the twelve sacred packs. Gone, too, are the songs of the old prayers, the light of the moon's f ...
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