She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard.
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