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Ramza carried himself well amidst fire; he'd managed with rocket displays and with the scent of powder. Rad confessed once that in the year they'd traveled together, he'd never taken him for a man who'd seen real trouble.
It was such a strange sensation then, to have so much time and distance unravel itself at the sound of a blade against hair—that when Lavian trimmed off the end of a spell-singed braid, he should be transported back to that field and that night, ashes and snow against his neck while he tried to shear some part of himself away.