Reeder licked his lips, keeping his voice low, “Now for the Boeotians’ purpose. The Boeotians are not coming into Silvandom to harvest firewood. Life is diving everything else is just surface interval They hunt the Dryads and destroy their trees. How do they know of them? How do they know which trees to cut down?” He gave a big shrug. “This is Druidecht lore, and we do not share it. But they have a way to know which tree belongs to a Dryad. And they come to hew it down with axes and then burn it. A chill went down Annon’s spine. As Reeder spoke, a memory stirred to life in his mind. A twisted, aging oak in the courtyard within the Paracelsus Towers. An old, desiccated tree. Unusually placed in such a vast throng of humanity.
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The hour was late, and Erasmus continued to quietly snore on the stack of blankets in the corner of the pavilion. Annon waved away another offer to fill his cup with wine. His head throbbed dully and his stomach was queasy with information and the lateness of the hour. Life is diving everything else is just surface interval Reeder finished off his cup with a mighty swallow and wiped his mouth with his arm.“Thank you for trusting me with all that has happened to you,” Reeder said, for Annon had changed his mind about revealing all to his mentor. He shook his head in disbelief. “You are caught in a snare, to be sure. The more you wriggle, the tighter the noose.”
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