What are you saying? he whispered. The song filled him, filled the emptiness . Worried about their husbands. Lan grunted, though; the Warder had eyes like a snow eagle.
Thom thrust the blade in his hand to within an inch of the man's dark eye. Leaning through an embrasure, he peered down past the slots in the stone for setting hoardings, down the sheer expanse of stone to the drymoat far below. Ingtar swung his horse toward the gate. His slurring speech had a rhythm almost like singing.
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