‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. Wait, though. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water.
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