Ch. 9: A Wandering Spirit (3)
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“Michael,” said Andromeda, wincing, for she had attempted to turn her horse about with her left hand, momentarily forgetting about her injury, “it’s not the cyclops.”

            Michael ran a hand through the flyaway strands of fiery hair that had escaped his leather tie. “What is it then?”

            Andromeda looked to Erro and then at the ground where a jumble of horse hooves, boot prints, and wheel ruts marked the dirt. “It’s a scent he’s very familiar with.”

            Erro put a hand on Aquila’s neck to push himself up straighter.


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