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Malika tossed a glare at the Orthael. "Why?" she barked. "What has the All-mighty Flame ever done for me?" Her words were barbed and full of anger. Her shoulder throbbed, and she wanted nothing more than to be gone from this accursed place.
She paced onward, ignoring the holy man.
Mistress, Morduth said. We really should let the holy man look at your shoulder. Even I have only so much I can do for you. Perhaps he has the ability to do more.
Malika drew up short suddenly. "Fine," she spat, and she sagged against a nearby tree. Tears leaked from her eyes, then welled up into a torrent as she began to sob. She clutched at her shoulder, despite the intense pain. Indeed, she almost found the pain comforting. After all, isn't this what she deserved? She had failed her village, failed in her vengeance, and this wound was merely the punishment that was due her for her failure.
She gave in to her emotions, then, and sobbed, the trauma of the night finally settling into her already overwhelmed spirit.
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Inspired by (sequel to):
Orthael came back slowly, as if he had been diving in a lake and sought the surface from deep below,…Surly Bonds
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