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.
Parris smiled, not nicely. Surely he could talk Dragon
Highlord Fewmaster Toede into giving him some reward.
Solace might bring him luck after all.
Parris stretched his skinny neck, opening his mouth to
call to the hobgoblin guards.
But something hit the back of his neck with an audible
thud. A second mouth opened in Parris's neck, just below
his chin. As it widened, a pointed silver tongue protruded
from it. It looked as though the second mouth were
screaming.
Above it, the real mouth was screaming. No sound came
out. Parris dropped to his knees, then sprawled forward in
the road. He just had time to grab at the back of his neck
and feel a strangely carved hilt he thought he recognized. . .
.
Hotter, thinner blood than the goblin's burst over the blade
and was absorbed. The ruby eyes burned brighter, and the
feeder thought suddenly, clearly, "I know why I must do
this. I am more than a feeder. I'm a mother."
And it remembered: the long-ago mating flight, once for a
lifetime; the search for food, and for hosts;
the red-filled nights of circling, seeking, diving into a host
body, drinking deep, and laying its young in the corpse. It
remembered, dimly, its own long weeks in rotting flesh,
eating and absorbing, growing until one day it and its
brothers and sisters crawled out of the hollowed body and
into the night, looking for fresher and more lively food
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