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Will sits on one of the stalls in the Grayhaven camp with his strong bow over his lap and quiver at his side on a warm moon lit night. A bucket of bloody watter at his side with a pile of blood soked rags dotted around the camp as if thrown in a hurry. His hunting knife, a foot infrount of him imbeded in the dry mud turned red by the blood on the blade. In the silence the only sound was the grayhaven and rangers of the heard banner blowing in the wind, he looks around what he new call home, the lanterns of the ranger camp shine thought the buch that seperates them and the lone tanter softly light his camp. the dwarf tent unable to be seen but knowing it was there was enufe berfer returing to stair at the knife.
Dr Ezeakiel of the traveling hospital and star courts
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