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“How's your hand?' He flexed his bandaged hand, studying the white bindings, stark and clean against his sun-kissed skin. 'I didn't thank you.' 'You don't need to.' But he shook his head, and his golden hair caught and held the morning light as if it were spun from the sun itself.” — Sarah J. Maas
How's your hand?'
He flexed his bandaged hand, studying the white bindings, stark and clean against his sun-kissed skin. 'I didn't thank you.'
'You don't need to.'
But he shook his head, and his golden hair caught and held the morning light as if it were spun from the sun itself.