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“You will heal," he said, and then he put his hand on her cheek. There was no feeling of dread, just the feeling of Feradach's hand on her. "You will always be impossible," he added, and he put his other hand on her other cheek. There was still no sense of doom; of what might be to come. "You will still be Merida of DunBroch," he said, and he kissed her. Neither the mortal nor the god had ever been in love before. It is not every day or every week or every month or every year that one person meets another who is their perfect foil, and it is not even every century that the pairing is a mortal and a god. It's more than simply love when it is a pair like this: it is balance, perfect balance, the push-pull of opposite forces that require each other. It is a sort of love that never grows old. Magic, magic, magic.” — Maggie Stiefvater