In Which Time has No ConceptIn Which Time has No Concept by Esabelle-Ryngin
In Which Time has Little Concept
From Sylvenya: A New Journey by M. Cattle
Etoile shuddered in the cold breeze, teeth chattering even though his jaw was clenched tight. He wasn't confident in his success, even in front of Etienne, who was clapping rhythmically to set the pace of the summoning. Etoile peered over the edge of the shingle-work of the tower roof: the ground was faded and obscured by cloud cover and sheer distance: distance too great to afford a misstep. The peridot-eyed magus squinted and darted his vision back to his friend, calling to him with shaky voice. "Let's begin, before I change my mind," said he, and though it would have been soon enough hours ago However, he thought, it must be done.
Etienne's encouraging smile deflated and flattened, with his furrowed brows in a worried fit. Heaving a silent sigh, the young bard tapped his foot, yielding a jingle from his anklets. "Frére," he called, "are you sure you want to do this? You don't have any
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