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You scratch lice out of your body-hair and swing the tool again.
You speak the Goddess' Name in Vain and some pebbles move upward.
You tie the drawstrings of your father's shorts tighter around your waist.

In your memory, one hundred decisive victories against woodland sprites,
natural fauna, the Forsaken Undead, impoverished peoples, priests of either
variety, Your Rival, sea-life, sacred friends, a mirror-version of yourself,
both fascists and the enemies of fascists, and dozens of forgotten trees,
stones, and slimes.