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Farahil was still dressed, using the relative quiet of this late hour to write letters and sort out logistics of travel. A worn map lay abandoned on his desk as he looked at the humble stoneshaper with no small amount of consideration. Linduial, seeking out Degas? He had wondered...
"I thank you, Garstan. You are a good man to tell me this."
Down the hall, confronted by an angry dwarf, Saeryn burst into tears.
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