She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. A severe pang shot through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this.
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