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LongshotChapter 17
“You are homo liberas. You will never grow sick, never wither or fade.” Repeating the words taught to us over the thunder of the falls, I raised a wooden bowl filled with ringriver water above Ananya’s head. While Zuri and I had retained Mother’s observances and celebrations, we’d remade many of her rituals. There were no death-defying plunges for our daughters, no endurance marches naked in the cold. Waking the children just before dawn, it had taken just half an hour of walking before...