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As Eodwine and Rowenna moved away from Saeryn, Degas disentangled himself from Léoðern and walked toward his sister, paying little mind to the celebrations and strategizing of those around him.
He knelt beside her inconspicuously. "Are you well, Saery?"
"There is nothing a few moments of rest cannot cure," she responded, patting his arm.
"You are sure?" he asked gently, hesitantly. "The wound healed cleanly? There is no infection?"
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