I am in a sun-filled tent, and my father's face, wrinkled, drawn, and pinched with worry, grows clear. He kneels beside my head, and as I look at him and ask, disbelievingly, I live? a smile widens, smoothing the creases at his brow and mouth... Tristan sits beside Lavain, his golden eyes so filled with fear, his face haggard and fraught with shadows. Elaine, he breathes, thank God.
-Lisa Ann Sandell
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