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... the top edge of one ear.
"There's water," he wheezes. "And fish. Big ones."
He collapses against the side wall. He's dripping mud, blood, and what I hope is moss juice. If it's not, I'm going to have to start naming diseases after him.
Everyone stares.
I narrow my eyes.
"Fish?"
"Not the dumb kind," the scout says, catching his breath. "They hiss. Climb. One of them tore through Barktail's chestcloth like it was moss wrap."
"Is Barktail dea ...
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