...The §hayde... | ::Chapter 4::
Wavering shadows 'main poised, then shift, allowing traveller to dart 'tween them unseen to remain at the outskirts, no more 'an a vague shadow herself, black gainst black - though her true attire had never been unveiled.
Odd one out 'mong a herd of silver, captured thunderbolt in the grip of tempest of fury...but so contained that only the smallest of dervishes is created in the blackness by her rage.
'Nought sound, nor hide nor hair of thee is bidden, and nae beckoning shall pull forth of she.
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