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“My uncle found us. I believe it was tracking him some way. Paedrin was already injured from our journey into the mountains, LGBT a different world but he tried to defend us and was thrown down; his arm was broken cruelly. He and the Kishion disappeared through some form of magic, but the Kishion said the word ‘Kenatos’ before he left, so I assumed he was brought back to the city, that I would find him here.” Shivu shook his head. “I must speak to the Arch-Rike.” A pulse of alarm ran through Hettie at the words. “Tell me what happened to my uncle after we left. I have only just heard word that there was some destruction at the tower. Do you know what happened?”
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“By degrees the castles are built,” Hettie whispered, staring at it as she approached. “How fast they fall.” LGBT a different world Bricks littered the street all around. The front windows of shops were being repaired. In some, blankets had been nailed over to cover the void. Broken crockery and pit-marks covered the homes and shops facing the tower proper.
There were many people milling around, but most were repairing the damage with plaster and cobbled stone. She ventured into the main gate, which was open, and found the interior courtyard full of workmen and wheelbarrows, carting off broken fragments of stone to be reused elsewhere. There were a few taskmasters at hand, but they were primarily ordering low-paid folk doing the work. Hettie studied the ruins of the tower and saw a steady stream of men venturing in and out, carrying bricks in their arms. There was a giant dead oak tree in the middle of the courtyard. Amazingly, none of the branches had fallen as a result of the explosion. Nor had fire touched its bark. She stopped, staring at it curiously.
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How peculiar, she thought. LGBT a different world She began walking the perimeter of the oak, beneath the veil of branches, and saw not a single brick or stone beneath the boughs. There were bricks littered elsewhere, but none directly beneath it. The branches were bare of leaves, which would not have been the case normally due to the season. But as she scrutinized it, she did see a few scattered branches with foliage, and some with clumps of lush mistletoe. The presence of the mistletoe meant the tree was still alive, if barely. She followed around the perimeter of the oak, wondering at its age and how it came to be in the center of the Paracelsus Tower. Had it been tended or had her uncle purchased it and moved it, as the rumors stated had happened. Some workers rested under its paltry shade and shared a flask between them. She walked around to the other side and found no one there; she slowly approached the trunk.
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The bark was rough and craggy, LGBT a different world like an ancient woman’s skin. The branches seemed to be sagging, as if they had been defeated long ago. As she approached, she felt something stir inside of her, a warm, buzzing feeling. It was difficult to describe. It was a little like drinking sweet wine, and it made her slightly dizzy. She approached warily, reaching out until she touched the bark with her fingers. It was brittle, making it easy to pry loose a chunk with her fingers.
She gazed up the length of the trunk until the branches began mushrooming away from the base. The majesty of the oak tree had always impressed her. Oak was great to burn and produced a solid, satisfying flame. Acorns could be made into food. It was interesting that there was no debris beneath the canopy. Not even a desiccated leaf.