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Freya considered Jala’s prone form – there really was an astonishing amount of blood trickling out of the fu-shaped cut made by The Whore of Knives. Freya was under no illusion as to the identity of Jala’s assailant – The Whore was in all the most frightening legends and bedtime stories and he was described in detail – the matted bearskin, the knives at his waist, the mad, staring eyes. And she, Freya, had bested him in a fight! Well, she’d helped Jala to do it, at any rate. What a great story that would make – if only any of her people had been left alive to hear it.
She had been avoiding thinking about all that, but seeing Jala lying there brought it all back – the screams of anguish, their cold faces, her mother’s tears as she bundled her into the safest space she could think of.
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