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. He passed the Cliffs of
Anger. He passed the Slough of Betrayal. Always the
draconians grew closer.
"I had not thought Darken Wood so large," he thought
once. "Surely I should never have chided the king for a
single lapse in guarding so large a trust." He thought
briefly of all the scorn he had shown the king, and more
fleetingly of how he had originally tempted the king into
betraying his trust, but there was little time for apology.
Twice, in the late afternoon, they encircled him and
began closing. The first time, he leaped contemptuously
over a startled draconian, in full view of the company. The
soldier jerked his sword upright hastily, but barely managed
to leave a furrow along the stag's flank.
"A scratch, nothing more," he told himself as he limped
away. He considered tossing a stinging retort over his
shoulder, but thought better. "I would only be lowering
myself." And he might, he admitted silently, need the
breath.
The second time, panting and exhausted in the Glen of
Thorns, he had lain frozen under a branch of blooming
sorrow's end, waiting until the draconians had plodded past
him to slip quietly away, unmissed until a soldier looked
back and saw the white mane as the transformed stag
scuttled, head lowered, through the thorn bushes
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