They were both naked. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. No slight was intended. You have seen for yourself, my lord.
Nor will he ever. We ought to count ourselves fortunate, the man said. Its center they filled with straw, brush, bark shavings, and bundles of dry grass. He had seen little of the dwarf since their journey ended.
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