He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. She thought of Capes. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors.
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