Damon shimmered out of being a crow, and felt his feet gently deposit him
the last quarter inch of an inch on the ground. Absently, he brushed away a few
stray feathers, not bothering with his hair because it was so fine it would soon
flop back into his eyes on its own.
He was in Fell’s Church at last and it was everything he had heard about.
Ley lines, straight as spears piecing the ground in all directions and forming
pockets of wild magic here and there, mostly concentrating in the heavily
forested state park that almost surrounded the town.
This was going to be . . . fun. Little brother had chosen...
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