Even in death, Vorsack was not a man. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. It is not every sort of creature needs—these males. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound.
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