Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. You cannot—shall not retreat. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin.
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