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Over her shoulders a long cloak of black fur, skilfully shorn from the wings of great bats, shimmering with a weave of fine golden stitches, and about her waist a wide black leather belt, buckled with her crest - a snarling wolf's head - and supporting, on one rounded hip, her gauntlet.
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And so this alleged necromancer Lord Lichloathe was either a figment of wild imagination, or he was himself a lich, dead and departed. Similarly, the men of the basement levels seemed singularly lacking in guts, and the sump was extremely ill-defended.
We know that the Child of Light always has companions, but that the Child of Dark is always solitary. So Cyradis tells us, Belgarath agreed. She doesn't have any reason to lie to us.
Let that wait till next time. This while we have today is so short. Then I must make ready for the next man. He bit his lip. You cannot tell him you've fallen sick?