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   Chapter 65 No.65

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 6027

Updated: 2018-01-19 19:02


"Don't forget your old friend! I'm hungry, too!" she called, immediately scolding herself for making so much noise.

Before worry could rush back into her mind, Myranda busied herself with the preparation of the fire. She gathered the driest tinder and kindling she could manage, as well as a few thicker branches to feed the fire later. After clearing a place and laying out the wood properly, Myn had not yet returned. With nothing else to do, she picked up the dragon-head piece that had been left behind. Most of the details were intact. It had a gold-bronze color and, like the rest of the helm, was exquisite. There were even eyes carved of amber mounted in the head that were uncannily alike in hue to Myn's own eyes. The piece of armor must have cost a small fortune. One of the dragon's teeth had managed to punch a hole just below where the piece had broken from the rest of the helmet. Myranda pulled a thick thread from her uncle's old cloak, now rolled up as a keepsake in one of the new white robe's pockets, and pulled it through the hole. Instantly, she had a new pendant.

Myn marched proudly back a few minutes later. The dragon must have heeded Myranda's words, because with her she brought two freshly killed rabbits. The dragon lit the fire quickly before gulping her meal down. Myranda cooked her own meal as quickly as possible, and extinguished her fire before eating. The wet wood created copious amounts of smoke and she feared that she would be found if she let the telltale flames burn for too long. As she ate, Myranda felt the vague feeling of uneasiness return. She glanced to the south, then to the footprints. She couldn't explain it, but the tiny yearning, like an itch she could not scratch, soon consumed her. It pushed all other thoughts aside. Before long, she found

. Not this time. She knew the words that could cure her, but she had been warned not to cure an illness before it had become a burden. If a body was cured of disease too quickly, too often, it would weaken, and eventually cease to fight disease on its own, Wolloff had warned. Indeed, many a wizard, kept alive well past the time that nature had intended, had died for precisely this reason, he claimed. Myranda decided that once the wracking cough that invariably came appeared, she would cure it. That should give her natural defenses the practice they needed.

Perhaps five days of constant travel had passed. She had not traveled due south, or the Elites would have surely found her. Instead, she zigzagged along rocky ground and thatch, anything that could obscure her tracks. She was walking the bank of another pebble-bottomed stream when she noticed something in the distance. Myn noticed it as well, and rushed to chase after it. When the creature was flushed out into the open, Myranda caught a clear glimpse of it before it galloped away. It was a horse. A horse just like the one the Elites who pursued her were riding. The image had burned itself into her mind--there could be no doubt.

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