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HER SHINING RED HAIR SPILLED OVER HER
SHOULDERS AS SHE LEANED IN, WATCHING MORAN
UNWRAP THE BODY: TALISIN, HIS BLACK
MOUSTACHE EVEN BLACKER AGAINST HIS ICE-
WHITE SKIN. THE BACK OF HIS HELM WAS SPLIT IN
HALF.
MORAN SAID DULLY, "THE GREATEST
SWORDSMAN SINCE BRIGHTBLADE, KILLED BY A
THROWN AXE."
HE TURNED ON HER, SHAMED BY THE STING OF
TEARS IN HIS EYES. "MEND THE ROBE, PATCH THE
CAPE, GIVE HIM NEW LEGGINGS - EVERYTHING.
HE'LL BE ENTOMBED WITH HIS FAMILY; HE'S
NOBLE, AND A HERO, AND THE BEST - " MORAN
COULDN'T TALK ANYMORE.
LORAINE, SURPRISINGLY STRONG, ROLLED THE
CART INSIDE BY HERSELF. SHE QUICKLY
MEASURED THE BODY AND FIGURED CLOTH AND
LABOR COSTS WHILE MORAN STOOD BY, EMPTY
WITH GRIEF.
"COME BACK IN TWO DAYS," SHE SAID.
AS HE TURNED TO GO, SHE LAID HER HAND ON
HIS ARM. "AND COME BACK OFTEN AFTER THAT."
HE NOTICED HOW CLEAR HER EYES WERE, HOW
SOFT HER VOICE COULD BE. "YOU'LL NEED TO
TALK, AND I - " SHE LOOKED SUDDENLY
EMBARRASSED AND STRAIGHTENED HER GOWN,
PATTED HER HAIR OVER HER EARS. "YOU'RE LIKE
NO ONE I'VE MET. I LOVE STRANGE PLACES AND
STRANGE MEN."
AS HE LEFT, HE HEARD HER SINGING, IN A
CLEAR, YOUNG VOICE, " 'RETURN HIS SOUL TO
HUMA'S BREAST ...' " MORAN HAD SUNG THE SONG
HIMSELF, IN A VOICE CRACKED WITH GRIEF, TWO
DAYS AGO
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