~Chapter Eight~

In the Shadows

I Remember A Year Ago, I Was Standing in the Crowd,
Waiting for the Chance to Break Through…
My Chance to Live Again.

Now It Seems I've Found Some Friends Who Finally Understand
What It Takes to Make This Dream Come True.
We'll Be Here Till the End.

This Night Will Never End…

~In Fate's Hand, by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.


Pausing, I slowly repeated: "…Hope?"

"What?" Aragorn turned to face me, confusion evident in his confused question.

Blinking at the older male, I hesitantly responded, "Never mind, Aragorn, I was just thinking…"

Shit. Having Oromë listening in sometimes is bad enough! Can Aragorn tune into my mind, too? What the Hell?!

Abruptly, Legolas stopped in his tracks, the boat drifting to its slow stop in the middle of the river. He surveyed the edge of the forest, listening for something strange that nobody else in the Fellowship could really hear. It appeared that Legolas had heard them, too – the Uruk-hai had steadily drawn nearer. We could suddenly hear them in the distance, the ferocious sounds of battle cries, war drums, and the pounding of feet hitting the earthen floor of the Lothlórien.

Glancing at him from beneath the cloak, I noticed Aragorn motioning to the riverbanks, clearly wanting to bring our canoes ashore. The time had finally arrived for us to travel forth by foot – for one reason, and for one reason only…

We were all being hunted.


Night cloaked the land quickly in darkness, the stars vanishing beneath its hem. Burning sunlight vanished because it had started sinking and had hidden in the shadow of the mountain, much like I wished to hide, continually, beneath the safety of my own warm cloak. Everything seemed to be shrouded within the shadows of twilight, including the faces of the Fellowship; however, the latter might have been induced by the worry that now rested in the pits of our stomachs like stones. Our close encounter with the band of Uruk-hai had set us on edge.

The Fellowship collectively understood the incredible risk that had been taken in volunteering to escort Frodo – and his talking Bling of Doom – straight into the fiery depths of Mordor. Some of us more so than others, considering the fact that Aragorn had basically decided to drag me (whining and kicking and screaming and cursing up a storm) into the boats…

But I digress.

"…it's cold," Pippin muttered petulantly while clutching at the cloak hanging loosely from his thinning shoulders. The Hobbit pouted at being disregarded and lightly stamped his feet – to accentuate his pouting or to ward off the cold, I did not know. "Ahem. I said, 'It is cold!'"

After a rather tense moment, Aragorn sighed in defeat and finally admitted, "Indeed, Pippin. It is cold, but I am afraid that there are no extra cloaks at the moment…" He kicked at a nearby stick. "It is safe enough to build the fire, however, so we will solve that problem within the hour."

The Ranger walked to Boromir and tapped him upon a shoulder, clearly indicating that the two of them should travel further down the riverbank to collect several armfuls of dry tinder for fuel. My guardian nodded his consent and made to follow the older Man, but while Aragorn continued walking in the darkness, Boromir stopped beside an old tree and turned around, hesitating. Gray eyes met mine, and I sensed that Boromir was wary of leaving me to my own devices. I offered him a wave and mouthed that I would behave myself. No mischief making – for now.

The Gondorian smiled at the mimed gestures, taking his leave with another amused shake of his head, blonde hair blowing gently in the cold breeze. A second later, and the only friend I had in this world slipped off into the darkness without looking back at me. I watched him leave, heart heavy, fearing that Boromir would not return. He might give in to the call of the Ring, and become yet another face hidden beneath six feet of dirt and wilting roses. It was entirely possible. We were at war.

War…

Two years ago, when Seth had first enlisted in the military, I did not consider the possibility that it would be the last time I could touch him, hold him in the flesh. Never before had I considered that Seth might die. Of course, I was aware that the American troops died, and daily, to protect our country. I was naïve, though, and I admit that I walked around while looking at the world through pink tinted glasses. I hadn't thought that Seth – my sun, my sunshine – would die.

War stole something from me…

Reading the dictionary had been something I did if bored. I understood the meaning of the word well enough without needing to look it up – a war was commonly defined by its hostile situation, in which at least two opposing forces fought for a certain end, which would often change history. War never gave me a reason to think anything else of it because I had not (at least, not yet) been affected by it personally. War stayed confined to the dusty pages of the dictionary, textbooks, stories in my novels, and the headlines of the newspaper, screaming black and white.

War was simply good fighting against evil, trying to rally together to stamp the rabid beast down without getting too hurt. There was survival and life, and there were mistakes and death, and the nothingness of the limbo in between the two.

I had learned that through experience.

We're sorry, ma'am.

Sacrifice.

"Merry, I'm cold…" Pippin reiterated, for perhaps the twentieth time in the last half hour, and bounced around in his efforts to get both warm and comfortable. It helped to heat the blood in his veins, but Pippin could not relax.

Through gritted teeth, Merry grabbed at his cloak, shoved him down beside him, and lectured, "I understand that well enough, Pip, but everybody is cold. What should I do – wave a magic wand to summon us a warm pint of ale?"

Ah! Sarcasm from a cranky Hobbit could be likened to pouring salt down on an open wound. It wasn't fun at all and made everybody, and not just the salted victim, angry and hurt enough to be problematic. Now, Merry was currently glaring at his hopeful cousin, and I sighed heavily at the thought of them tearing each other apart. Cannibalism was a practice not common among the people of Middle Earth, but I supposed it could be possible…

Thus, I decided it might be best to do something about their bickering before the two decided to eat each other for supper. Pippin was a mouthful, though, if that much – and Hobbits should not have dessert before dinner. My mouth twisted in distaste, thinking of the Uruk-Hai, who would gladly eat all of us. All bad humor aside, Aragorn might not take to well to the fact that I had chosen to ignore their little argument and let our mutual friends partake in the ritualistic consumption of human (uh, Hobbit) flesh.

Probably not the best way to get to his good side…

"Merry, Pippin," I called softly to them, though I still managed to catch the attention of Legolas, with his bat-like hearing. Blue eyes were raised from staring at the cold dirt to search the nearby shadows for the miserable Hobbits. "Where are you two hiding?"

There was a quiet mumble, followed by the sound of rustling, and then the two small males came crashing and trampling through the underbrush. One after another, Merry and Pippin cautiously hobbled to the place designated to be mine, given that Boromir had ordered that I stayed here shortly after the Fellowship had stopped to make camp. The Hobbits huddled beneath their shared cloaks, which they had wrapped atop and around each other. Good thinking…

Indignantly, I had informed the tall Gondorian that I would choose my own spot and stomped off to find the perfect place; however, Aragorn had chosen to stop me as a precaution, ordering that I return to that patch of grass. After all, I would be unable to cause any trouble if I had two large, incredibly strong males sleeping beside me on either side. They had picked their spots and then dumped their packs by their respective sleeping rolls, which had been set up mere inches from mine. It was uncomfortable thinking I would have to sleep next to them. I had been lucky in catching catnaps while floating down the river. Now, though…?

It did not help matters that Aragorn practically had to pry my palms from his threadbare, black cloak, which I had clung to with abandon from the moment the Fellowship had left the boats. I was not afraid of the dark. Nope. Not me! I was merely afraid of the terrifying and possibly cannibalistic creatures using the cloak of darkness to travel the vast lands of Middle Earth – namely the Orcs and the Uruk-hai.

Spiders, too – I hated spiders with a passion, and I blamed Seth for that particular phobia.

Tarantulas cannot be considered cute, Seth.

Never…

While childish, Aragorn could understand that I was afraid, and the explanation for that fear. I had read about it, but I had not experienced much of it – this world would be largely unknown to me. The Man was very observant and had taken that into consideration when placing bedrolls to sleep in. He'd put his large hand down and gently ruffled the hair hanging in my eyes as soon as our companions had busied themselves with other things. The Ranger had then pointed out that the most important aspect of his duties would be to protect the Ringbearer, Frodo Baggins, but Aragorn had also quietly – and sweetly – agreed to keep an eye on me whenever possible.

All will be well, Little One, Aragorn had said to me. His words echoed in my mind, sweeter than the lullabies I liked to sing when Seth and I were younger. We will protect you.

Oddly enough, Aragorn had also convinced Legolas to begin teaching me about the bow and the arrow, which had begun earlier in the evening, shortly after the boats had been brought ashore. I had wondered why the blonde Elf was so quick to meet these terms, thinking him to have ulterior motives, before I remembered why the Fellowship was wary. Defend myself against the enemies with the limited knowledge of Magic I had learned would not be enough to keep me – or anyone else, really – out of trouble. Even though I had started learning to control it, slowly but surely, I could accidentally set fire to someone on my side of the battle. Like Legolas, for example!

"What is it you need, Sammy?" Merry asked in a weary tone of voice. It had become clear that watching after his cousins had made its mark upon the older Hobbit; Merry was completely exhausted – both physically and mentally – and had little patience for the likes of me.

Smiling faintly at him, I patted the grass on either side of my ample hips and motioned for them to drop down beside me. They warily listened to the request, and only after exchanging cautious glances did Merry and Pippin finally seat themselves next to me. Ouch. It appeared that neither of them truly wanted to trust me after the incident in the forest – too much fire for their tastes. Nonetheless, Merry and Pippin curled into my warm sides and waited patiently for my explanation.

"What's up? I was wonderin' if the two of ya would like to borrow this ol' cloak for tonight. It should be big enough for the two of ya to share," I explained to them and, catching sight of their identically startled expressions, I smiled at the pair and gently added, "It is cold…"

As expected, Pippin braved the silence and responded first. "What about you, though, Sammy?" He inquired, clutching at the hem of his cloak like a young child and yawning widely. "You would be cold without it, wouldn't you?"

Head shaking, I brightly replied, "Nope! I grew up in the cold, northern plains of the country I lived in. There are several mountain ranges, annual snowstorms, and long winters in that area." My eyes closed, and I breathed deeply through my nose. "I was pretty much born and bred to survive this type of weather…"

Quietly, Merry considered this explanation, taking in the truth of it. He noticed that my nose was pink, but that I had yet to shiver like the two of them. "Then Pip and I will kindly take you up on your offer – if you're certain, that is…" He murmured, and his pale, green eyes gazed longingly at the cloak resting, unused, in my arms.

"Yeah, I'm certain, my good Man – uh, Hobbit!" I chirped cheerfully at him, equally surprised that yet another glimpse of who I really happened to be had peeked through the cracks. I tried stuffing the fear of being laughed at down, flapped the cloak open, and handed it to them.

The Hobbits stared at me, obviously surprised that I had willingly handed it over, no strings attached. Over the course of the last month, the members of the Fellowship had learned that I loved to pull pranks, and that I happened to be damn good at them, too. Now, Aragorn and the others thought twice before doing something stupid and incurring my wrath – even the Hobbits were wary, if not paranoid. Paranoia did not often apply to Merry and Pippin, however, given that the cheerful Hobbits usually participated in the majority of this mischief, much to the chagrin of Aragorn and Legolas. They were our prime targets.

"That was incredibly kind, Little One, and surprisingly so…"

Damn Ranger.

Blushing at the thought of Aragorn seeing that little interaction, I scowled at his observation and retorted, "I'm not always a nasty bitch, Aragorn." The Man winced at the choice of words, but I ignored him to grumble. "I just like to instigate fights and pull pranks. It's in my nature to be mischievous!"

Settling down atop his bedroll, Aragorn smiled faintly at me. "Aye, I had noticed. You have calmed down considerably since your arrival in Lothlórien, though, I must admit," He mused with the thoughtful quirk of his brow.

"It might be surprising to hear, but I've always been the quieter twin," I admitted, before losing my cool and huffing indignantly at his skepticism. I tried to glower, but given his amused expression, I had only succeeded in pouting at him. "…Really! I'm the shy one!"

"Yes, of course," The Ranger murmured, his expression somewhat pained. He leaned his back against the tree behind his bedroll and lit his pipe, puffing at it for a moment. "Although, I fear your older brother must be the true terror, if you are indeed less troublesome…"

"My Twin is like the sun – shiny, loud, bright, and always the center o' attention. In his words, I am a moon, a mere shadow of his presence," I chuckled, quietly staring up at the velvet skies and searching for my namesake. A crescent moon glittered brightly within sprinkling of tiny stars.

"Had I heard that last week, I would not have believed it of you," Aragorn admitted and laughed quietly around his pipe. "Now, however, I find myself glad that I – that we – were wrong." His crooked smile quickly morphed into an amused smirk, and Aragorn added, "Although, I must point out that you are still quite immature, My Lady."

"Thank you so very much for the sweet, kind, and thoughtful words, Aragorn," I muttered darkly beneath the breath that heated the cold and made little white clouds. "Honestly, I love you, too."

Startled, Aragorn turned to stare down at me, gray eyes wide and gleaming with shock. He choked down the smoke inhaled from his pipe and hoarsely asked, "…I beg your pardon?!"

Laughing, I quickly explained the meaning behind the phrase, lest Aragorn suddenly begin to worry over my growing affections for him. My crush – the secret affection I harbored for him –should not be something that the older male needed to think about yet, if ever. He had enough to panic about at this particular moment in time. It would eventually go away. There was also his love for Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond. She was a tall, strong, and beautiful Elf – the perfect candidate to wed the future King of Gondor.

…Okay. In truth, I was not merely crushing. I liked him. I really cared for Aragorn, and probably more so than I should have, all things considered. It was stupid and impossible because the Ranger was, and always would be, out of reach. A short and chubby, blonde female with an attitude problem and complete lack of common sense was crazy about the tall and handsome Ranger, who happened to be approximately four times her age as well…?

Stupidity, thy name is Sammy.

Aragorn chuckled.

My stomach flipped at the sound of his gentle laughter, and I squinted at the strange feeling. Whenever I thought about Aragorn lately, I had that feeling. He was just looking out for me. Like Daddy should've when I was younger. Why, then, did I feel this way?

"You speak consistently of Lord Seth, but I have not heard much in regards to the rest of your old family. Do you not get along with them?" Aragorn inquired curiously while standing up, pipe finished, and tidying the pile of sticks that surrounded the incredibly toasty fire.

Pausing, I thought of how best to explain the situation. "As a child, I lived only with my absent father and twin brother. While I respected Daddy, I didn't love him because…" I swallowed, stopped abruptly, and blurted, "Seth, on the other hand, is my other half – the better half."

If the Ranger found that clipped explanation strange, Aragorn said nothing of it. Instead, Aragorn finished tending the fire, leaving its warmth to the Hobbits, all of whom were starving, famished, and dying of hunger. The four males immediately set about preparing the late supper, desperate to fill their empty bellies with all haste. I eyed the food with interest. My stomach growled at the smoky smell of salted bacon and cooked beans, taking it in with glee.

Oh, and look! It's not Lembas Bread tonight! Finally!

"What about your mother, Little One?"

My stomach clenched.

"She died in childbirth," I said softly, raising my eyes to meet his with the small, sad smile I reserved for the lady that I had not met. "Bearin' two children at once…" I looked down, staring intently at my curled fingers. "…it was too much for her frail body to handle."

"'tis a pity that the lady did not have the chance to meet you. In fact, Little One, I do believe that your mother would have been quite proud of you," Aragorn gently insisted after catching sight of the doubtful expression I adopted at the first half of his response

Without warning, Aragorn reached down from his spot at my side and gently tucked several stray strands of hair over my ear. His fingers dropped down, touching curiously at the piercings there. Yes, I had three silver earrings in each ear – and the Fellowship had given me some grief about that little discovery, so it might be best to keep the bellybutton piercing a secret. Aragorn still touched them and let his fingers linger, trailing them down the piercings and causing several shivers to crawl down my spine.

My eyes were wide, and I stared into his handsome and curious face with something akin to awe and understanding stirring in the depths of my soul. Evenly, Aragorn gazed down at me, gray eyes warm while surveying the reddened skin with interest. My heart hammered in my chest, beating strongly, like I had been running for miles and miles without any reprieve. Not tired, perhaps, but out of breath. Excited. What is this feeling?

I wish… My mind thought back to the wish that had started this entire mess and stuttered at the recollection of making it. I wish for a reason to…

Huffing, Boromir suddenly seated himself atop the cold, stiff blankets to the left. A pair of stormy gray eyes were moved and flashed in his direction, instantly clashing with the pair of steely dark gray eyes. The former belonged to the future King of Gondor; the latter, to my mad guardian. As of this moment, neither appeared too terribly happy with the other, though I really hadn't the faintest idea why. Sighing, I glanced down again and realized that I was seated between them, directly in the line of fire. Joy.

Both Aragorn and Boromir continued to glare at each other. Aragorn reached out to move my ponytail aside, and Boromir brushed his hand against mine. I ignored them their posturing and instead thought back to the scene that I had apparently missed, which involved the discovery of Gollum. My friend, Boromir, would've demanded – yet again – that the Ring of the Retards be brought to Gondor. Aragorn, however, would not have chosen to comply. If I remembered correctly, Aragorn refused to bring the tiny golden trinket within, and I quote, 'a hundred leagues' of the White City.

Now, I'm not a mathematical genius, but I do believe that to be quite the distance from the desired target…

Oblivious to my musings, Aragorn and Boromir busied themselves with glaring holes into each other over my shoulders and head, clearly preparing to fight to the death, and – "Is dinner ready yet?" I asked hopefully, hands planted in the bedroll before me, and eyed the steaming plate of food that had just passed from Sam to Frodo.

In reply, Sam smiled shyly and offered to me an empty plate. I smiled in return, thanking him for making dinner yet again, and quickly filled the plate with bacon, beans, questionable looking mushrooms, and that thrice damned Lembas Bread. It plopped like bricks down on my poor plate. Dammit, I knew that damn bread would make an appearance…!

Glancing to the side, I noticed that Aragorn and Boromir were now easily ignoring each other in favor of filling their own empty plates and growling stomachs. Men! I dryly mused: Only two things that they think about? Sex and food!

Ha! A bad joke sent me on a trip down Memory Lane. I was in the senior year of high school and eating lunch with Seth, laughing at the perverted joke that the other teenager had just told me on our way to the bleachers. As a matter of fact, I was now snorting and laughing hysterically at what appeared to be absolutely nothing, and the members of the Fellowship could be found staring like they thought I had completely lost my marbles. Quite possible, too!

"…er, is something particularly funny about the food, lass?" Gimli asked, always concerned with the state of his meals, before warily poking at his share of bacon. He lifted it with his fork and tentatively sniffed at it. "Seems to be alright…"

"Sorry," I coughed, "just remembered this joke that Seth shared about men once. It, uh, amused the Hell outta me." Sheepishly, I hid flushed cheeks in the sleeve of my green tunic and hesitantly muttered, "My bad…"

Unfortunately, Gimli now appeared rather interested in hearing it. His pleasant smile turned positively devious, and the Dwarf urged, "Get on with it, lass! Share the joke! We need something funny to think on."

"Uh…" My hands twined together to pull nervously at their fingers. I chewed at my pink lips, before making up my mind. I glared halfheartedly at them and timidly warned, "It's probably goin' to offend the lot o' ya!"

Smirking at this obvious statement, Boromir pointed out, "Indeed! But that happens each time you care to open your mouth, Samantha, which is quite often." Gray irises glittered with his amusement when I angrily punched him in the upper arm. The Gondorian didn't flinch.

"Fine!" I snapped in irritation, lifting both hands in the air and making certain that I had their attention before giving them one more warning – I would not be held responsible for this one! "Ya want to hear the damn joke? Whatever, but ya crazy, sexist boneheads better not get pissed off that I recited it!"

"You have our word, Milady," Boromir politely assured, bowing mockingly while the rest of the Fellowship exchanged quick glances and then settled down, their attention on me, eager and curious about the joke.

Taking two deep breaths, I steeled myself, and then blurted, "Ladies need to know that Men only have two emotions: hungry and horny. If you see a guy without an erection, you should make him something to eat!"

Every single member of the Fellowship – all eight of them – mechanically turned to stare at me, as if I might be from another planet. I blinked. It happened to be true, given that I was actually from Earth, but…

An amused Gimli snorted into his drink, trying to hide the sounds of his laughter without much success. The Dwarf had given in and started howling his laughter at the skies, much like a wolf might during the night of the full moon. His nemesis, however, had plastered his famous blank expression to his face, looking like somebody suddenly wiped all emotion from his perfectly angelic face, with the exception of his twitching right eyebrow. Both Aragorn and Boromir blushed faintly, and neither would look me in the eye. The Ranger and the Gondorian still appeared to find the joke rather amusing, though, given their smirks.

Ah! The Hobbits?

"…can you understand that joke, Mister Frodo?" Sam murmured with his small, puzzled frown pulling at his lips and making his round face scrunch up. It would have been adorable, had Sam not made his dislike of me so clear.

Sadly, Frodo tossed his head of dark brown hair back and forth in the negative. He clapped the other Hobbit at the shoulder and casually admitted, "Not a word, dear Sam."

Both Frodo and Sam turned to Merry and Pippin, neither of whom had the faintest clue what to make of the joke. The Hobbits all shrugged it off and remained utterly clueless, too busy with the stuffing of their faces to care at the moment. Ah, Hobbits! So sweet and innocent! It was disgusting – uh, heartwarming, to watch the little creatures and their adorable eating habits.

Turning to Gimli, I offered him my remaining pieces of bacon because I had pretty much lost my appetite. "Here you go," I happily said and dumped the meat atop his plate, listening to his glee through his next mouthful of bacon. It sounded like thanks. Yeah.

Sam glanced at his friend, frown deepening with each passing second, and urged, "Please, have some more of the food, Mister Frodo." He continued shuffling about the campfire, fixing the other male another plate of food; it practically overflowed to the forest floor.

"No, thank you. I don't really want anything else to eat, Sam," Frodo murmured softly. Blue eyes shifted to stare at the river, and the small male sighed softly, clearly uncertain about the situation at hand, about being the Ringbearer.

"You haven't eaten anythin' all day, and I know that you're not sleepin' either…" Sam loudly protested, his accent changing to something similar to mine, thus startling me. "Don't think I haven't noticed!" An aggravated sigh, and then – "Mister Frodo…"

The Ringbearer quickly interrupted, small form whirling towards his friend. He glared at him and harshly declared, "I'm alright!" Nothing more was said for another moment, while Frodo observed the chain hidden in the folds of his shirt.

"BUT YOU'RE NOT," Sam wailed, and the gardener crouched down beside his friend to stare into his face. He insisted, "And I'mhere to help you! Indeed, I promised Gandalf that I would look after you!"

"You cannot help, Sam – not this time," Frodo said sadly. The Hobbit sighed again and returned his attention to the cold, unforgiving river. Mercy would be unlikely. The Ring would survive. "Go to sleep, my dear friend."

The tired words of the Ringbearer appeared to serve as some cue or secret hint because the entirety of the Fellowship began cleaning the campsite and shuffling towards the designated sleeping area. Yawning widely, I leaned forward and stretched, rubbing my warm and full belly with a very satisfied smile. I was about to stand and return the plate I had used to the fire, but a much larger hand removed it from my open palms. He pressed his other hand to my arm and gently pushed until I had changed directions to walk towards the bedrolls.

"Go to sleep, Samantha," Aragorn whispered the gentle order in my ear and smiled at the strange look I tossed him, "for you will surely need the rest."

Blinking stupidly at his words, and the fact that Aragorn had also actually said Samantha and not Sammy or Little One, I nodded tiredly in agreement. I tugged shyly at his sleeve, and something in his expression gentled further. I mumbled, "Thank you, and uh, g'night…"

After Aragorn had left and headed for the campfire, I moved to my sleeping roll, planning to fall fast asleep, but the moment that I settled into the thin cloth, I found that I could not sleep. My mind spiraled into despair. If I was correct, several things had happened out of order tonight. Our conversation between the Hobbits, Frodo and Sam, was supposed to happen while both Aragorn and Boromir had been fighting about the current destination of the Ring.

It was supposed to happen quite the distance from the campsite, yet several of their words had been exchanged in our presence. A small change, I warily admitted, but still important to take note of for the future. It was a sign, perhaps, from the Valar. I was destined to change the fate of this world – for better, for worse, who knew? This was just the beginning of a newly discovered Middle Earth.

However, if I was given the chance, I would change the fate of this world, and its people. My people now. I would save all of the innocent lives that I could, including one now most precious to me. In fact, Boromir was currently rivaling Seth in affections; it seemed strange, but I thought that I might love them equally someday. But I would not get the chance to find out, should I not succeed in my endeavors.

After all, Boromir was supposed to die, and really soon.


***Author's Note***

Hello again! I'm still posting the edited version - Edited 2015.

Happy Holidays - be it Christmas or whatever else, or nice day if you choose not to celebrate at all. ;)

Question: "I wish..." is something Sammy repeatedly thinks. What do you think it means?

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

Update: ~45 Reviews

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