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After all this time, Kyra finally knew what she could do
with her life besides serving ale. Still staring at the sketch,
she whispered, "I'm going to paint you, Seron. I may not be
the artist that you once were, but I'll do my best to be as
good as I can be. I won't settle for less; I can't settle for less,
because it's the only way I can have you close to me."
With paints, brushes, and a canvas bought out of her
meager savings, Kyra started the memory portrait of her
husband that very night. Painting by firelight, she worked
until dawn. Her body ached, her eyes were strained, and she
was thoroughly exhausted. And when the sun came up, she
was also thoroughly disgusted. She hurled the canvas to the
floor, where it landed face down. "Terrible," she muttered.
"He didn't look anything like that."
It was then that Tosch flew to her door, calling out,
"Come look at my new wings!"
Kyra stuck her head out the window and saw gold
sparkles on Tosch's wings, dancing in the dawn light.
"You've outdone yourself," she declared.
"And so have you," Tosch cried happily, seeing the
paint smears on her face. "Are you coloring your body now,
too?"
"No," she sighed wearily. "But I have decided to do
some painting
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