knew who she was, what she was. None, if
they glanced twice in her direction, called out
to her in the way men had done in Rifthold.
Lysandra trudged into her tent, sighing in
exhausted relief as she shouldered her way
through the flaps, aiming for her cot.
Sleep, cold and empty, found her before
she could remember to remove her boots.
autumn admireceo1iq
(Autumn Admireceo1iq)
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