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Summary
His lips part as he senses the warm touch from Griffith’s hand, the pressure on his throat pooling, and then his eyes fly open as the sound of his heavy belt deafens him. This is no sleep, but then again who sleeps in these camps anymore? Griffith doesn’t. Guts doesn’t. Casca might bother in trying.
“Why now?” Guts manages to say, words get tangled the moment he tries to get them out of his mouth. They stop coming when Griffith’s blurry shadow towers over him.
