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Your eyes narrow: with the nun out of the picture now, you can push yourself a little.
You take one, two, then three slow steps toward the beast, before you become a silver blur on the wind, a beam of light catching on the breeze as your rapier goes hurtling toward the wolf's forehead. You do your best to steady the blade, both hands on it, despite your injury--though, it's a little more loose in your grasp than you'd prefer.
>Roll a 1d20, Bo3.
