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... Mother was angry, and the gold and blue roots had only made it worse; her roars felt as if they were shaking his Core, louder than the crick-crack of stone and far less satisfying. He wanted to escape it, to run and hide; his clay-form wavered and rippled as a reflexive use of [Sodden Earth] nearly brought him back to the comforting bliss of his mud-form, one so like the before-form that it almost felt as if his Creator still lived and commanded him.

Even in her anger, M ...

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