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“All who possess this weapon have regretted it, even the fiercest of killers, mad Lord Runestock, say, or bloody Sir Fairbeast, or Captain Slaughterdark who abandoned it here. Behold the Sword of Loving Kindness.”
“If this is meant to deter me,” Persimmon Gaunt said, clutching her rope beneath Bone, “I’m deterred.”
The tunnel grew narrower, then the ceiling lowered as well. Soon she had to crawl on knees and elbows. Her world closed down to a bubble of light no more than a few handspans across, surrounded by a mountain of rock that pressed in on all sides. Rock that hid her from the light, the air, and her husband the Sun.
She was glad of the darkness, because it meant the two men could not see her tremble.
From the Archives:
"And yet Now is upon us," said Tvarn Wind-Tamer. "For the Perfection is moving. Look."