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... of his palm wiped sweat from his temples.
If he were still Zmey Ashbane, hope would not cross his mind. Zmey Ashbane controlled his actions. It was like a cow hoping humans would never sacrifice it for a feast.
At one moment, he toppled over. He gasped. Nausea, yet a scent not specific though with something pulling, wafted into his nose. He gasped.
His boot froze in the bed of snow. A tight sensation landed in his chest. He wrinkled his nose in struggle. His hand quivered ...
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