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Wendy Flora
Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182
Virginia

0 posted 2000-01-27 10:59 PM



The branches of the gnarled bush rustled as the hand bent them gently downward in order to see what was beyond.  The eye squinted slightly in the weak sunlight that trickled through the ominous clouds.  There were four children playing in the yard.  The goat they were chasing was braying merrily, and the youngest - a boy of maybe five or so - stood closest to the bushes, clapping and laughing as his siblings tormented the poor creature.  The face in the bush leered at the boy's back, and the hand raised a small bamboo tube to the chapped lips.  With one small breath, the five-year-old boy fell to the ground, and the face in the bushes melted into the shadows, smiling.
* * *
Cora and her sister and brothers were having a fine time, all right.  They had managed to finish their chores early, thus giving extra time to play.  Her younger sister Nellie, who could never by pried from the animals, had suggested they include the old gray goat in their frolic.  Toven and Rojer, the two  boys, were game for anything, so Cora had consented.  The old crow in the barn had warned her when she went to milk that she should stay inside this morn, for evil was a-brewing, but they had all been in such fine spirits that she could no easier have kept her siblings inside this day than to fly to the moon on the old goat.  She should have known by now that the old crow was always right.  Always.
The crow had come to them the winter their parents died.  He lived over the mule's stall, much to the chagrin of the mule.  Forever was he forecasting the weather or spewing forth bits of wisdom or giving out warnings of doom to anyone and everyone who came into the barn.  That is, every one of the children.  Their neighbor, Missus Byrns, had never heard so much as a peep, and thought the children a bit addled for all their complaining about a crow she was convinced didn't even exist.  She kept an eye on the children, making sure they were well and had plenty to eat.  Cora was a remarkably responsible girl, and she kept the farm running smoothly enough, but Missus Byrns wasn't convinced that the children could handle life completely on their own.  
On the farm there were only children and animals.  Cora was the eldest at nineteen. Toven was sixteen, Nellie was thirteen, and Rojer was almost six.  They had the old goat for milk and cheese, plus an aging cow to make up for the goat's occasional lapses.  They had the mule, the feisty rooster, and three able hens.  One could almost count the yellow tomcat as living on the farm, though it isn't entirely right to say that he belonged to the children.  He came and went as he pleased, stopping occasionally for Nellie to give him a small dish of cream and a good ear-scratching.  He had one yellow eye and one green, which, with his missing ear and notched tail, made him a gruesome sight indeed.  The farm stood exactly six and a quarter miles from town, and a good three miles from the nearest neighbor, Mister and Missus Byrns.  It was an island of self-sufficiency, and even Missus Byrns knew better than to mess with such a thing as that.  At precisely six every morn, Cora was up swiping a few eggs from the dutiful hens and some milk from the old goat.  She made a nice porridge from the milk and some cornmeal and sugar, and none of the children left the table without having their fill.  They then proceeded to the pastures where they cared for the animals that other farmers paid to let graze on their lush grasses.  It was said this grass could double the milk given from a cow, or make a horse double in strength.  It looked like perfectly ordinary grass, but one could never convince the other farmers of that.  Knowing of the grasses' unusual properties, one would think the other farmers would be clamoring to get the children off the land in order to get it for themselves, but as I said, that farm was an island of self-sufficiency, and it is well known that one does not tamper with such things.  Besides, the children took wonderful care of the animals and never charged much - only a sack or two of flour or cornmeal, or a keg of sugar.  Sometimes they would be paid with a nice leg of mutton or slab of ham.  In this manner, the children's farm was maintained, and everyone involved was quite content with the arrangement.  Well, almost everyone.
The morning that little Rojer was felled was not the usual morning.  Cora had lain awake all night for no apparent reason, and had been compelled several times during the night to go from room to room to check on her siblings.  She had no provocation to do this; she did not receive the crow's warning until the milking time.  Still, something was astir.  She felt it.  It was a pressure in the air, thick and heavy, like that preceding a great storm.  The air was still, and the night was unusually quiet.  The morn had dawned grey and misty, with no breeze and no true sun.  Nothing untoward happened all that morn, until the playtime came and Rojer was struck down.  There had been no sign of distress upon his person, but simply that one moment he stood clapping and laughing, and the next he dropped silently to the ground.  He was breathing shallowly, and nothing Cora could do was able to rouse him. She carried him inside and sent Toven to fetch Missus Byrns, although there was nothing she could do, either.  Rojer lay quietly in the bed as a fever rose in him, and all Cora was able to do was to sit quietly and watch.  She tried all the herbs that she and Missus Byrns could think of, to no avail.  Rojer was slowly slipping, and as the days passed, Cora grew more and more desperate.  This business took its toll on Toven and Nellie, as well.  Nellie's usual cheery face was overshadowed with worry, and Toven became withdrawn and angry.  Cora was beside herself.  She never before had asked the crow for advice, but each day she begged him for some clue as to what could be done; he was ominously silent.  Five days she went religiously to the crow, and five days there was only silence.  Rojer's fever sapped all his strength, and he never uttered a word, or made any sign of consciousness at all.  On the sixth day, Cora was at her wits end, and when she went to the barn at milking time, she didn't even bother to speak to the crow.  She was finished with the goat, as she had not much to give this morn, and was starting on the old cow when the crow's voice broke through the barn quiet.
"Farmer Crane."
Cora wasn't even sure she had heard anything.
"What?" she breathed.
"Farmer Crane."
Hard though she pressed the crow, she could gain nothing further.  Farmer Crane was a crotchety old man who lived on the farm on the farthest side of town away from the children's farm.  Before their parents died, Farmer Crane had been a regular for Repast Day's meal, but since then Cora had not seen hide nor hair of him.  He was rumored to have some knowledge of wizardry, but nothing was ever found to prove it.  In any case, it suffices to say that Cora set out with Toven that very day to see Farmer Crane.  She was confident that Missus Byrns and Nellie could continue to do what she had done for Rojer, which amounted to precious little.
She found the farmer busy chopping away at the kindling block, and it was apparent by her face as she approached that the matter on which she came was a serious one.  Farmer Crane stopped his chopping and waited for the girl to speak.
Cora's grey eyes were cold as stone, unbeseeching in their manner.  She was direct and forthright, with no air of pleading about her.  This almost made her plight more urgent. "My brother Rojer has been felled by a peculiar illness, the likes of which are unknown.  A wise bird sent me to you, and I have come to ask what you can do regarding the matter."  
The farmer regarded her for a moment, as well as the angry youth behind her, and turned to go into the house.  Cora and Toven followed as if beckoned, and the weathered door closed behind the peculiar trio.  
The inside of Farmer Crane's house was batcheloresque enough.  It was clean,  and devoid of those aspects of a house that make it more a home.  On the shelves were various farming implements, clean and  well organized, along with unremarkable jars of unknown purpose.  Farmer Crane led the way to the middle of the main room where he drew the curtains closed and lit a small lamp.  The lamplight heightened the determination in Cora's face, making her a fierce and strikingly beautiful presence in the room.  Toven hovered like a shadow at her shoulder, his black eyes glinting sharply.  Farmer Crane looked at this ferocious pair and had to stifle an inward shudder.  
"What ails the boy?  You must tell me all the particulars if I'm to be of any help."
So, Cora proceeded to tell of the nature of his fever, how sudden the onset, as well as the ominous prediction of the crow and the uneasy feeling of the night before.  As the farmer listened, he seemed to withdraw deeper into thought, until finally towards the end he looked to be no longer listening.  His weathered face darkened, and he reached for a small wooden bowl on the top of his case of shelves.  Into this, he poured a stream of clear water from a worn, tin pitcher, and added some odd coloured leaves from a basket by the door.  He struck a match and let it fall into the bowl.  The bowl flared for an instant before hissing into smoky silence.  The farmer began to whisper something that neither Cora nor Toven could quite make out, then stared intently into the water's smooth surface.  He stared this way for quite some time, and Cora and Toven began to grow more uneasy in the stillness.
"Elves."  
"Elves?"  Toven questioned.
"Yep.  Elves.  It seems they've been paid to do a mischief to you.  Paid in what's most sovereign to them, too. . .  They've been promised the soul of your brother if they'll get you children off of your land."
"Rojer's soul??"  Cora breathed.  "But why would they want such a thing?  And who was so bold as to promise them such for a boon?"
"As to who did the promising, that I cannot say.  But it's well known that the elven folk are fond of the soul's of human folk - especially children. It makes their magic stronger.  The younger the soul, the more magic's there for them to use.  Your wee brother would make quite a tempting little piece of booty."
Cora seemed to withdraw into herself at these words, but Toven was undaunted.  
"What's to be done?  Anything?  Or must we sit idly by and watch Rojer lose his soul?"
"Well," the old man mused, "I'm not quite sure.  Seems to me, if I remember correctly, that there is always a way around fey magic, but the way is always tricky, and it always exacts a great price.  If you intend to save your brother's life, you must know from the start that it will cost ye greatly, and there are no guarantees."
"Is it certain that if we do nothing he will die?"  Cora voice was flat and low.
"Ayah.  It is."
"Then we will do whatever it takes," she stated simply. "How do we find the source, the one who wishes us this misfortune?"
"I will have to examine the boy and find the elf's signature mark.  There always is one, for the elven folk are an arrogant lot who take especial pride in their handiwork. Once I know the hand of the elf, it won't be much to trace his master.  The hard part comes in the remedy.  The fey are slippery little devils, rest assured of that.  They make their spells tight and clean, but they always make a way out of them, for even they are prone to make mistakes now and again. But come, whilst we dawdle away here, your brother slips closer and closer to death."
With that, they made their way swiftly back to the children's farm.
   * * *

In the heart of a deep forest, eyes the color of rotting wood stared deep into a roughly hewn yet highly polished crystal.  Withered lips muttered strange words and images in the crystal shifted.  The sweeping clouds swirled in the grey bowl to form a raging storm.  Jagged flashes of lightning cut through the inky black, infusing the witch with its energy.  The gnarled hands resting lightly on the surface of the crystal glowed with an unearthly light, and when the images in the crystal faded from sight, gliding into the aged fingers, the fingertips came away wet.  The earth-witch pushed the flowing hair back from her now smooth face and turned to gaze in the gilded looking glass.  Her finely chiseled face shone as polished ivory, accented only by her russet-colored hair.  Her green-grey eyes carefully scrutinized her new form and, finding satisfaction, turned once again to her crystal.  This time, the shape shifter would attempt to change not only the surface, but the bones. . .
* * *
When Cora and Toven entered the house, Farmer Crane in tow, they found a grim scene before them indeed.  Missus Byrns and Nellie hovered around Rojer's bed as bleak shadows.  Farmer Crane went to the bed and gently began to examine him - his arms, his hands. . .  
"Here, Toven, lift him up and I'm going to check his back."
Toven cradled his little brother tenderly as the farmer lifted Rojer's shirt and explored his back, then brushed the hair away from his neck.
"Here we are. . .   just below the left ear. . .  can you see that small mark?  It's shaped like a small hand. . .  That'd be Fangus's mark.  Why am I not surprised. . ."
"So, what does that mean?"  Cora whispered.
Toven's dark eyes glittered anxiously in the firelight.
"Well, it's mighty hard to say. . .  Fangus is a lower elf, meaning that his spell shouldn't be so strong, and none so hard to break, but. . . he'll also be harder to find, and the elven queen's not too likely to make any especial effort to find him, since we've no prize to offer her, nothing to tempt her to act. . ."
"What would it take?"  Toven was trying as hard as he could to keep his manly facade, but holding his brother's feather-light body in his strong arms with little hope of his recovery was stripping away any masks of serenity he had been able to keep up to that point.  
"For the queen?  Well. . .  gold's of little use to her, as if there was much of that to be had in the first
place. . .  and I doubt she'd see the practical. use in trading one soul for another, although her getting the soul instead of Fangus would at least cause her to raise her eyebrows some, but not much.  See, all the elves pay a tribute of souls to their queen, so it's not like she's got a shortage on her hands. . .  Basically it comes down to this: unless you have an object of great magical worth lying around here someplace, you. . ."
"What kind of object?"  Nellie's shrill voice echoed from the corner.
The old farmer blinked a little in surprise.  
"Well. . . er. . . uh. . . why?  Have you got one?"
"I don't know, but. . . let's just say that if I knew where to get one, a good one, would you know what to do with it?"
"I suppose. . ."
Nellie grabbed her cloak off the peg by the door and disappeared into the night.  Cora, Toven, Missus Byrns, and the farmer all stared at each other, not quite knowing what to do next.
Nellie ran as fast as her legs would take her into the forest, her sharp eyes following the familiar signs on trees and rocks until she came to a small clearing ringed by aged oaks.  She reached the center where a shaft of moonlight had worked it's way through the trees and pooled on the forest floor.  In the middle of that pool, she stopped and called out a word in a strange, musical sort of language.  The word seemed almost charged with electricity, and it echoed off the trees with a ringing like bells.  A few moments later, a shimmer winked next to her, and a short, slim, winged creature with large, clear eyes also stood in the pool of light.
"Yes?"  The silvery voice hung in the air after the word had been spoken.
"Seryn, I saved your life once, and you told me if I ever had need I could call on you.  I wish to call in your debt to me and have you help me save my brother's life."
It was long after midnight when Nellie burst in the door of the small farmhouse delicately cradling something against her chest.  Cora had been sitting in the chair by the fire, trying to take out some of the stress on the unwitting potatoes, and she jumped near a mile when the door was yanked open.  
"Nellie!"
Nellie's face was flushed and her eyes bright, but she refused to say where she'd been or what had transpired, but breathlessly and wordlessly laid a bundle wrapped in a mysterious cloth on the wooden table and collapsed in a chair by the fire.  The farmer had looked up from the herbs he'd been grinding when Nellie first came into the room, but had stayed rooted to the bench until his eyes beheld that cloth.  He sprang up like a cat, hastily unwrapping the bundle to reveal an unremarkable wooden box.  Farmer Crane grew still, then slowly turned it over in his hands, letting the firelight run over it's smoothly planed surface.
"‘Twas made with no metal fittings. . . no hinges, no clasps. . .  Where'd you get it, Nellie?"
Without a sound, Nellie rose from the chair and took the box from the farmer, opening it's lid to allow the firelight to dance over the golden surface of the object resting on the crimson velvet interior.  The farmer's sharp intake of breath told Cora this was something important.  The farmer laid the box gently on the table and gingerly lifted a finely crafted golden panther with glittering ruby eyes from the box.  The eyes regarded the old farmer knowingly, and the muscles almost rippled under his fingertips.  
"Ach, you've gone and done it now, Nellie my girl.  Do you have any knowledge of what this is, here in your very own kitchen?"
Nellie's green eyes gazed steadily into the old farmer's without even considering the object in his hand.
" I don't. Why don't you tell me?" Cora was to the point of exasperation.
The farmer seemed to have forgotten she was in the room, and blinked at her a moment before answering.
"Well, miss, the cat has been regaled for centuries as one of the most magical creatures.  Of course not as highly as the dragon or the unicorn, but definitely powerful.  This particular figure is faerie in origin; you can tell by the mark here, on the cat's left forepaw.  There's a crescent-shaped stamp with an s-shaped mark cross-hatching it.  That's the mark of Olghan, a legendary elven goldsmith of almost two centuries ago.  This cat is known for it's power to allow the owner to possess - either through outside control or to inhabit - any cat within the surrounding area and especially to ‘see' through its eyes. You see, the fey store the magic that gives power over animals in icons such as this, and when they lost this, they also lost power over any cat at all. . . and it disappeared from the elven kingdom almost a hundred years ago.  I'd sure like to know how your sister came into possession of Olghan's Panther."
Nellie's voice quivered slightly. "It's of no import.  I promise to tell you the full story once Rojer is well, but now. . ."and as if her slight frame had suddenly been deprived of it's ability to support her weight, she swayed and Cora rushed forward to catch her as she fell into her arms.  

The next morning when Nellie awoke from her sleep, she found the farmer and Cora hunched over a large, roughly sketched map of the forest.
"Well, if memory serves me, Fangus'll be found somewhere around this part of the forest," he said, pointing to a clump of trees near the children's farm. "Now, elven dwellings can range anywhere from an old tree to a stump to a pond or stream. They can make their houses out of even rocks or clumps of reeds. There's no telling where it'd be, but elves don't move unless they're forced to - that is, unless their house is destroyed or something like that.  The elven palace itself is close to these falls here.  We know them as McGuiness Falls, but to the elven folk they're Telac d'Nor, ‘where the water falls.'  If our intentions are to see the queen, and we have this little beauty here for bait," he said, stroking the cat, "then we'll find the palace, no problem.  Or should I say, it'll find us, no problem.  We should go tonight - the closer to midnight the better, for that's when the fey are most active."
So, when the moon rose, Cora, Toven, and the Farmer set out through the forest.  Nellie had begged to come, arguing that it was she, after all, who had procured the bribe-gift, but Cora had reasoned that someone had to stay with Rojer - someone must sit with Missus Byrns, for while Cora trusted her enough, she would feel better if Rojer had kin sitting vigil with him, as well.  The trio packed some bread and cheese as well as striking steel and flint. As they headed out the door, Toven snatched his hunting knife from the shelf and shoved it into his belt.
"‘Not like it's likely to be any use against fey," he muttered, "But it's better than nothing."
Cora and the farmer had debated about whether it would be more profitable to first try to reason with Fangus and only use the queen as a last resort, or go to the queen firsthand.  Cora balked at the idea of disturbing the elven queen and possibly drawing unneeded attention to her unprotected family, but the farmer had reasoned that with such a powerful bribe as the Panther, the queen could be coaxed to swear an oath to command all of Elvandar not only to leave the children alone, but all their descendants as well, thus protecting them for all time.  This quest of their's was fraught with danger, for the elven queen could just kill them all on the spot and take the cat easily, or banish them to some nether-world, or enslave them. . .  But before they even thought about reaching the queen, they must pass through the elven-inhabited wood without any missteps that could cause them to lose the cat.  Farmer Crane explained that anything that radiated fey magic as strongly as that statue did would attract any fey within a mile. The statue had been taken from its faerie box and placed in a human-made metal one, which was tied with a string in a hope-knot, then the whole thing was packed in rosemary and thyme leaves and placed in an old saddle-bag.
"That should at least muffle the power emanating from that thing some.  Most of the lesser elves won't detect it at all, which will save us a lot of hassle, but the elves who do sense it will be real trouble.  We'd better move swiftly to try to get to the falls before midnight, when we're sure to have company."
They'd been traveling about an hour and a half when they had their first encounter.  A thick mist rose suddenly, and the Farmer said in a low voice to Toven, who was carrying the satchel with the statue, "Hold on tight to that thing, boy, or else one minute it'll be in your hands and the next gone.  Don't ever take your mind off it, either, or you'll forget what it is and give it to them, or else it'll disappear and you'll forget you ever had anything at all."Toven clutched it tightly to his chest and wrinkled his brow in concentration.  The farmer began to chant some words foreign to Cora and Toven, and Cora - feeling left without a task - began to sing an old hymn from the church, knowing that the fey can't abide the sound of holy psalms.  The mist grew thicker, and Farmer Crane grabbed Cora and Toven's arms to make sure they stayed together.  His chanting grew louder and more intense as the mist strengthened.  Then, all at once, the mist disappeared, and the brother and sister looked to the farmer in disbelief.
"We've worn it out, it seems," he explained. "A spell which targets a force of nature like a mist is difficult to keep up for a long period of time, which is lucky for us because too much longer and we would have probably succumbed.  We must fly to get out of its territory before it has a chance to recoup.  In another hour we should be at the falls."
They had gone another half-hour when the next attempt was made.  This time, a huge bear appeared out of thin air right in front of them.  Cora screamed and clutched at Toven's arm.  Toven shifted the satchel and drew his knife, but the farmer shouted for him to put it away, that it wouldn't do any good, which Toven had known but it gave him some sense of control over the situation. Again, the farmer began to chant.  This chanting was different, and he reached his hand into his shirt and brought out a small leather bag suspended from his neck.  From this, he withdrew a small, clear stone that he spit upon, then cast in front of the bear as it began its lumbering charge.  The bear froze, then winked out of existence.  The farmer picked up the stone and dropped it  into his bag before tucking it into his shirt once more.  Cora and Toven were dumbfounded.
"He's trapped inside that crystal, now, and I'll have him later if I need him.  Come, we must hurry; midnight approaches."
They broke into a run, Toven leading with Cora and the farmer following close behind.  The branches seemed to reach out to claw at their faces and clothing, trying to hold them back. They burst into a clearing where water was pooling as the cascading white falls thundered from the hundred-foot high cliffs.  Suddenly, there appeared in front of them a large mountain lion.  The three of them froze in their tracks.
"I didn't think the elven folk had power over cats. . ." Cora breathed.
"I. . .uh. . . they're not supposed to. . ." For the first time the farmer didn't seem to know what to do.
Behind the large cat there was a flash of light, and a beautiful woman appeared, her eyes emitting an icy stare.  
"Is that the elven queen?"  Cora asked in a small voice.
"No.  That woman is not of the elven race. . . you see how she is shorter than Toven or I and how her skin is tan and her hair curly. . . the elven folk are tall, with icy pale skin and straight, willowing hair.  Nay, this be the witch Ranya.  It follows that it would be she. . .  Your sister Nellie must have procured that icon from the faeries, who probably stole it  from who knows where. . . Ranya and Fangus are old friends.  It was probably she who wants you and your brothers and sister off your farm, because your land is infused with magic, as evidenced by your marvelous grass.  I'm sure she covets that power immensely."
"What do we do now?"  Cora asked.
Toven meanwhile had been ominously silent.  Cora turned around to see what he was doing, and saw him holding the cat statue and taking a step towards the witch.  
"No, Toven!  Don't give it to her!"  Cora screamed.
Toven seemed not to hear, but kept advancing.  Cora and the farmer were rooted to the spot where they stood, unable to do more than call for him to stop.  About ten paces from the witch and her cat, Toven stopped and brought the icon up to eye-level.  He stared deep into the cat's ruby eyes.  The mountain lion suddenly got a very glazed look in its eyes, and turned to face the witch.  The witch looked confused, then terrified as the cat jumped onto her, its claws poised to strike.
"Lift the spell from my brother."  Toven's voice had an unnatural guttural edge to it.
"If I do, will you call off the cat?" the witch pleaded.
"I will."
The witch yanked a small ring off her left hand and tossed it at them.  The farmer snatched it up and looked into the blood-red stone crowning it, and saw the scene they had left, with Nellie leaning over Rojer and exclaiming, "His fever is gone!  He's sleeping!"
"How do we know that is what really is happening?"  Cora asked.
The farmer muttered a few words of his chant-like language and the scene swirled over, then returned just the same.
"Ayah, it's a true showing.  Your brother is cured, Toven."
Without a sound, the great cat raked its claws across the witch's throat.  Her body jerked once, then lay still.  Toven lowered the statue, and the lion shook its head as if to clear it, then lumbered off into the underbrush. * * *
That was the last time any magical beings interfered with the children's lives.  The farm passed to
Toven and his wife, when he took one, and from him to his son, and his son after that.  The grass each year seemed to lose more and more of its wondrous properties until it became just another lush field.  The family on it was saddened at this, but as Toven was a good farmer, they didn't suffer from it.  Old Farmer Crane became a regular once again at the Repast Day's meal, and until the day he died was a fast friend of the children, and their children as well.  As for Olghan's Panther. . . well, most claim that was only a legend, and the children never did tell how their brother's fever was cured, or how their sheep were never killed by wild cats. One thing is certain, however: that old yellow tom never was quite the same after that night so many years ago that Cora and Toven and the farmer made the mysterious journey to the elven forest, and the enchanted falls known as Telac d'Nor.





 "Well she wants to live her life,
then she thinks about her life...
Pulls her hair back as she screams,
I don't really want to live this life!"
-Train "Meet Virginia"

© Copyright 2000 Wendy Flora - All Rights Reserved
Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187
St. Paul, MN
1 posted 2000-01-28 04:36 PM


WOW!  What a terrific fantasy tale!  Enjoyed this one a lot!  Good descriptions, interesting plot, very nice!  Wonderful story!  

 In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons



Wendy Flora
Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182
Virginia
2 posted 2000-01-29 02:12 AM


Wow. Thanks!   My only concern with this one was that the ending was too abrupt.  (I was kind of anxious to finish it.)  But thank you for the positive encouragement.   -wen

 "I am everything you want
I am everything you need.
I am everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
I say all the right things
At exactly the right time
But I mean nothing to you
And I don't know why."
-"Everything You Want"
Vertical Horizon

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