[fancypost bgcolor=; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; text-transform: lowercase ;width: 375px;][justify][size=8]— Pas sat somewhere in camp, working on something. It looked like a sword, but so far it looked poorly made. The femme cursed under her breath as she continued to carve the wood. She didn't trust herself with a real one, not yet. Maybe when she was a bit older.
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