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... ile—half admiration, half frustration at his constant calculus—and melted into the treeline.
Draven knelt, boots sinking into damp earth. He unslung a small chisel of night-black iron and traced a looping rune across the sole of one boot, the tip leaving gentle sparks that died soundlessly. The rune's curve absorbed ambient vibration; once sealed, every footfall would register no louder than falling dust. He repeated the pattern on the other boot, then pressed both soles firmly into soil ...
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