[Aeler's eyes seem to gleam for a moment like a predator's in the dark, the light that brings not hope, but despair. He remembers the puncture of the hound's teeth in his forearm, remembers the tearing, rending pain of ripped muscle. His breath trickles out, one puff at a time, his gaze unchanging.]
The trick of it is, [His voice is soft, barely audible,] Finding the right master.
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The trick of it is, [His voice is soft, barely audible,] Finding the right master.