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The Whispering Skydancer on its perch had not moved much in almost three hours. Yatrel er Goltbred would have suspected it was asleep if not for the occasional rotation of its head - white eyes tracking things that the duelist's own prosthetic eye and improved spiritual sense following her daughter's lessons could see, though her natural one was less capable. Small harmless insects, mostly, but occasionally just strange little whirls of dense essence that caused a sort of lensing effect on the air.
'That daughter of mine. Why did she have to give me such a distracting new piece of sensory information to deal with?'
