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<span class="mu-i"> Mistil leaps like a spark from foot to foot, red hair swaying, green-eyes like chemical fires locked to us. Some chivalric instinct compels her to offer the possibility of retreat. Perhaps she knows something. Perhaps she waits for something. Well, the Courier will never arrive and Mistil will never know, and so we step in. Fourth Dusk steals a knife from out of hand of a Slicerat, and Amicus dives left into the swirling smoke, holding to his soul.
In the distance, Riv slides like water out of the Watcher's grasp, twisting, and tries diplomacy - as Lagomorpheus clambers from the ocean, dripping wet and faintly out of breath. A thankful fisher is saved from the burning sting of clinging purple-tinged fire, and in the doing, Lagomorpheus feels the pull of the most dangerous instinct of all
Altruistic generosity. </span>
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