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... rary as Zephyr's pen hovered over my botanical sketches like a hawk eyeing its prey. Two days had passed since my deal with Cassandra, and my fingers still ached from trying to properly draw those damn five-point calyxes on nightshade berries.

"Marginally less disastrous," Zephyr muttered, circling one of my less terrible sketches. His voice carried that usual tone - like he was considering whether to help me or bury me in the herb garden. "At least you've stopped confusing monocots with ...

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