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“Oak's hooves clatter against the floor, and then he's on his knees in front of me, all golden hair and fox eyes and worry. 'Wren,' he breathes, reaching through the iron bars, even though they singe his wrists. His fingers run through my hair.” — Holly Black
Oak's hooves clatter against the floor, and then he's on his knees in front of me, all golden hair and fox eyes and worry.
'Wren,' he breathes, reaching through the iron bars, even though they singe his wrists. His fingers run through my hair.