HOLD YOUR BREATH


Gaius had met Uther Pendragon in a day of spring, many years ago.

The war lord had arrived into his village at the head of a band of warriors, covered in boiled leather and dry blood, his booming voice requesting the aid of a healer. Gaius had been but a lad, barely started with his studies in magic and science, but he offered his hand anyway. Gorlois could've died that day, but Gaius saved his life, and Uther Pendragon had been the happiest man he ever seen. He offered promises and rewards, and in the end asked Gaius if he would be willing to join his host. Back in those days, Uther was a man that conquered loyalties with the same easy one might collect pebbles from a stream. He would smile, joke and slap your shoulder; he would guide you into his circle of friends, boasting loud tales and deeds that were both amusing and entrancing. Was it any wonder a young Gaius said yes?

In fact, looking back, Gaius wasn't surprised at how quickly he joined that young man's journey to conquer a decadent kingdom. Suddenly he was a novice, healing other warriors and mercenaries in their war path. He would wake up under a red dawn and treat mauled limbs and diseases common to war bands. He would live and march like a soldier, and sometimes he would even witness battle, his eager eyes taking every detail of Uther's feints and schemes which brought enemy after enemy to defeat.

The finest of all tricks was when they had finally arrived on the walls of Camelot itself, where coward King Ban hid. Uther spent days marching his men in circles in and out of the darkling. He made sure that his riders were seen between the trees every moment of every day and at night he had each man make five fires, and all those fires made his army seem many times bigger. King Ban surrendered on the third day, after Uther had false deserters spread more tales about his savagery and might.

"You are a great ally, Gaius!" Uther told him that night his cheeks flushed from Ban's wine, eyes drunk with victory. "Truly, I don't know what I would do without you; maybe I should keep you around."

"Keep me around?"

"Of course." Uther said nodding his head. "Now that Ban is gone, I can set this kingdom to rights. That is what this has been about, my friend, putting things right. Now that I hold the crown, no one will challenge my will."

"Are you certain of that, sire?"

"Of course I am, already I have made allies, and there are marriages that can be offered. Gorlois himself shall receive land that shall make him great in name and wealthy."

"Indeed, but I'm afraid Albion has other forces beyond warlords and lords, sire, the sorcerers are a powerful entity, you should seek to ally with them as well."

Uther listened to him, his blue eyes blinking under a dark mane of hair. "You're right of course; sorcery seems very useful as you've showed me. With it men can challenge kinds, so if I can have it at my side, what kingdom can truly stand against us? That is why I meant to name you for healer of the court."

"Sire?" Gaius had been flabbergasted. "Sire, I was raised in a pigsty!"

"Why, all the better! You understand these people better than I ever will." And the hand was on his shoulder, and Uther was looking at him, bright eyes, blue eyes, so young, energetic, and eager to prove something to the world. "I shall see those sorcerers in time, offer them positions, but I would like to have a true friend to make sure I won't be tricked! Think about it, Gaius! Together we can reach wonders, like the swords made beyond the sea, hard and soft metals twisted together to make the strongest blades! Come now! What do you say?"

And Gaius, for better and worse, had sealed his fate that night, sewing his promises with threads of friendship and youthful hope.

He looked at the world he grew up in, with magic – dark magic in many cases - spread all over the land, chaos reigning where simple men could wield more power than kings. The High Priestess with their whims would cast curses to those not in their favor, and laws had as much meaning as the whispers of the wind. Uther wasn't like those weak kings however; he was a creature of order and strength. Gaius had looked to him, and seen a future he was tempted by. How easily however were those futures destroyed? How easily he now looked to his king with pity and concern.

"You called for me, sire?"

Uther Pendragon looked up from his seat with eyes that were hollow. He raised a fist and then it fell to the side, his mouth opening a few times as if he was forcing himself to say the next words. In the present he was not a warlord, but a man, old and tired.

"Lord Hector informs me that my son has taken the witch and fled." Gaius pursed his lips, nodding in grave acceptance. He already suspected something was amiss when Gwen disappeared from her duties; the magnitude of the prince's actions surprised him though. "He has fled Gaius. He shared mead and bread with Bayard, left him good wishes and the witch caged and restrained; the party was gone for but a day, slowed down by the whore's cage when he drugged his own men and vanished into the night."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sire."

"My own lords think him a traitor, they speak of sentences and guilt, but they are ignorant buffoons! Scheming sycophants the lot of them! The witch must've cast a spell on him, surely you must know of something." And the king was pleading, the same king that once told him to use whatever means necessary to save his children. And with heavy heart, Gaius shook his head knowing he would need to measure his words.

"There is no such skill that wouldn't require rare ingredients and time, sire, nothing that wouldn't be obvious to others."

"My son wouldn't betray me."

"Prince Arthur always had a mind of his own."

"He would never do that!"

"He has done so before, sire." Gaius tried to put strength in his voice, but it came out gentle as if he might hurt the king. Indeed, Uther covered his face with his hands, the long grey hair falling beside his face, the crown tipping over to the floor with a silent thud. "Arthur has always followed his heart, even when you forbid him from doing so." Even before unsure results.

"He was always dutiful and diligent!" Uther reeled, the chair falling in his wake as he stepped over the Gaius, his mouth curling into a snarl. "You know it Gaius! Whatever was necessary he would do it! For Camelot, for his king, Arthur always did his duty! For this, however, there is no reason!" The king raged, looking away. Although he was angry, he might have brushed away tears with his hands. "It's madness, pure madness."

"Has your son never questioned your orders, sire?" Gaius asked, softly and wary, pressing his point. "Has he always followed blindly?" He noticed the king's stiff shoulders, old eyes finding signs that were obvious and old. "He spoke to you."

"He was being foolish and naïve…."

"Sire…"

"He was always naïve…" The king had his back turned, the flames casting a warm light over his dark coat. "I thought I had rid him of that, but maybe I should've been harsher, I should've prepared him better, taught him more closely."

Finding little he could offer in a matter of words, Gaius fished a small flask from his sleeves. "Your wound must be hurting, sire, perhaps you should drink your potion, and it will make you better."

"I don't need a dull mind right now."

"You need sleep."

"I shall sleep when this war is over." A hand shot out, slapping Gauis' fingers. The flask fell on the ground, the contents spilling over to taint the lined ground. Sighing, Gaius picked up the flask, and poured his king some water. When he turned around however, Gaius found Uther picking up his crown. "I should've ended this threat long ago, Gaius, long ago. I was lacking in my duties, I allowed this wound to fester and now my son travels to the wolf's den. Well so be it. I just have to get rid of the wolves. Then I can have them back, both of them."

The king left the tent and Gaius alone in it, the physician looking down at the cup in his hands, wishing for a time when he didn't feel so tired all the time. He returned to his duties with defeat heavy on his shoulders, waking through a tired army. He wondered how long it would take for news to spread, that the loved Prince had betrayed his people. The other were surely planning their own reactions to such happenings as he spoke, no doubt losing their confidence in their high king by the moment. Above him, he heard a crow, cawing to the winds as it flew from Green Ash, while the smell of dinner could be felt in the air. A servant tripped on his path, almost dropping set of amour, and Gaius paused, watching the lad regaining his footing.

He discovered that in his absence a young lad had inadvertently dropped boiling water on his foot due to a thoughtless prank from his friends. Burns were horrible business and the lad would have a night of pain ahead him, but Gaius, as always did his best.

Merlin was still where he had left him, lying face down on a cot in the healing tent, sharing the space of dying or recovering soldiers. It seemed that Gwaine was the one making him company today, the young man was going on about one of his tavern tales, but stopped as Gaius' approached.

"Gaius! I was just…"

"It is all right, Gwaine." He got to his knees, grunting at his aching joints and checked Merlin's forehead. "Even unconscious it is said that patients are soothed by familiar voices, he might be hearing everything you say."

"What? Truly?"

"Yes."

Merlin had no fever, a fact that lifted Gaius's spirits. The fear he felt that night when Arthur brought him in now was a shadow, haunting his waking moments. It had been a peculiar fear, that one, something Gaius might have once thought himself above, something born only into those who held hope in their hearts.

He had given up hope long ago when Ygraine Pendragon gave her last breath before his very eyes, and Arthur's first cry echoed through the queen's personal chambers, signaling the end of an age. He lost hope when he saw the king's wrath taking shape before his eyes, turning friendships into dust and death into laws. He lost his hope when he swore before the new god to never practice sorcery again, and watched more and more faces, strangers and known, dragged to plazas to be consumed by fire. It wasn't just mindless, for many dark sorcerers met their end in those days, but in time he would give up entirely on seeing such acts, retreating to his tower with a window turned away from the smoke. Of Uther's battles he would only have rumors and whispers; of the sack of the Isle of the Blessed he knew nothing at all.

He had lived, worked and existed within the walls of Camelot. He offered his knowledge when asked, and Uther's friendship seemed to blossom, seeded in their shares secrets and regrets. Uther showed him lists and asked questions, for the good the kingdom and Albion, and Gaius only ever dared to erase one name. He watched suns rising and falling. He delved deeper into the science of healing and learned to fix what was broken without the aid of a blood thirsty goddess. He lived and worked and treated those who sought him, until Merlin came along, and old age suddenly didn't hold as much finality as before.

"Is he going to be all right?"

Gaius looked over at Gwaine, seeing an expression that he had never seen on the man's face. Gwaine was a man of easy words and easy smiles. He was cynical in relation to nobles and a hedonist in regards to life. Gaius never saw him grieving, but of course Merlin had brought hope to others beyond himself.

"He will be all right."

"It's been days."

"I know, and you've been of great help." Gaius said, observing the knife wounds on the young man's back. Gaius could tell which one had been responsible for each problem of that horrid night. The one on his lower back had reached one of his hip bones, another damaged muscles and scrapped his scapula, while the third had gone and punctured a lung. The three combined made for his body to collapse, retreating into itself for healing.

It had seemed like hours before he and Gwen had controlled the bleeding, always checking to see if there was no air leaking inside his ribcage. At some point, Gaius had become so desperate he had whispered a quick spell while Gwen had her back turned, and still he had no idea if his lack of practice and power had been of any help at all. All that he knew was that Merlin had to wake up for the sake of all of them, for Arthur's most of all if his actions were of any indication.

Gaius personally saw to his dressings, carefully wrapping the young man's body. Beside the cot, Gwaine was fighting his own eyelids to keep himself awake, making the old man feel even older.

"Just go to sleep, Gwaine."

"What? Nonsense, I'm fine." He blearily blinked. "Elyan will be back soon, and then I can rest."

"I'm sure I can look after Merlin myself." Gaius smirked. "I've been doing it for years now, despite his best attempts at getting himself killed."

Gwaine chuckled. "He does have that talent, doesn't he?"

Yes he did, always for the sake of others, no matter how much strain that put on himself. Gaius had always known it would be hard for someone so young to turn who he was into a secret, one so dangerous even those he held dear couldn't know about it. He watched Merlin struggling with it, raging against it as all young people were bound to do, and despite all the hurt it caused his aging heart, he was always glad to see Merlin safely in his bed in the late hours of night.

He was brushing the hair away from the young warlock's forehead when he heard the horn calling from outside. Gwaine, whose eyes were closing again, jumped to his feet with the senses of a warrior, while around the two men, the cots stirred in the wake of its occupant's confusion. While Gwaine rushed outside, Gaius took his time; walking knowing there was little his hurry could do for anyone's sake.

When Uther assembled the kingdoms' army to block the passages out of Green Ash, he did so by occupying to small patches of dry land in the middle of the marshes. From those bases he built fortifications, connecting the two patches by a line of pikes and ditches. From the top of the northeast position, Gaius now saw the men rushing away from those formations, marching to a formation out of the camp. Elyan and Gwaine were both watching everything from the top of the hill, their eyes turning west where the skies were fiery and darkening.

"Is that Morgana's sigil?"

Indeed, to that position, Gaius could now see a line of riders forming on the high ground, thousands of them, and leading was the dark banner of the Rowan Tree, flying beside a pale white dragon. It seemed Morgana had come for her trapped people, and surprised everyone.

"How come we didn't get a warning about this?" Elyan questioned. "There were scouts spread for miles, covering the river crossings!"

"Morgana is a powerful sorceress." Gaius pointed out to both men. "You should not underestimate her."

"You two!" Percival bounded to where they were; a dark look in his eyes. "I'm gonna find Sir Leon, are you two coming?"

"Go" Gaius said before they could blink. "Go, we will be safe where we are."

As them moved to join the other warriors, running to build a formation between the riders and the rest of their forces, Gaius sent forth a small prayer for their sake. As the night settled however, covering the riders in darkness, torches begun to appear. First one, then a dozen and suddenly thousands and thousands of torches were surrounding Uther's alliance with a wall of fire. Gaius' heart sunk with cold dread, there had to be more than enough forces to overwhelm and destroy them all. Judging by the silence that settled on the camp, the knights and warriors of the kingdoms were realizing the same thing.

They were doomed.


"Isn't it dangerous to do this at night?"

"Usually, you might be right."

"The horse could break a leg, we might kill friends…"

"Usually" Pylah reiterated her grin wide as she looked at him up and down. "Luckily, we have the Goddess with us tonight, so fear nothing, Sir." Lancelot shrugged, he had already given up on not being called that. "Did you really kill a griffin all on your own?"

"Why does everyone ask me that?"

Pylah grinned. "People are curious, druids have a lot of knowledge about creatures and it was always said that griffins needed to be dealt with using magic."

"What else do your people say about griffins?"

Pylah gave him a look as if letting him know she knew exactly what he was doing. "They are noble creatures, but very territorial, dangerous if you provoke them. Their skin is hardened, for they were born of magic. They eat and hunt in both the skies and the land, both fruits and meat are good to feed them."

Her voice was carrying along to some of the people around them, dozens of breathes smoking in the night air. Lancelot found himself eager for more. "What else?"

"They can't be called a he or a she, for they change their forms according to their will and it's not really easy to them apart. Among my people they are a symbol of love, because they have only one partner in their lives, it is said that when such partner dies the griffin might go mad and follow soon after their mate." She grinned. "Not much different from some humans."

"I wouldn't know."

"Griffins have a sad history as well, in the past many sorcerers hunted them down for their bodies. The magic in their claws, and feathers and blood is powerful, it is said that the Cup of Life itself was first conceived from using crushed griffin eggs, but that can also be just an story. In reality, griffins are almost as precious as a unicorn, but although the last ones had all but disappeared, griffins are said to have taken refuge in the high mountains." The druid woman hummed. "I thought about seeking them out sometimes, but I doubt it would be worth it."

The way Pylah spoke, as if missing a time that she never saw, brought Lancelot back to that day, when his rode a horse and drove a spear in the griffin's flesh with the aid of Merlin's powers. There wasn't really time for him to think beyond the relief of accomplishing the task at hand, then Uther and Arthur had begun to argue about his fate, and the Griffin became just a mark in his life, to leave behind the lies and shortcuts. Maybe in some ways, it was thanks to that day that was in his present situation.

"Are you fine, young man?"

"Terrific, my lady."

"Hh, you know, I'm not sure I was ever called that." Alice sounded amused. "Like this, in fact, I almost feel like a child again."

"I sure hope you have fun."

"And I thank you for your hope."

Quietly he adjusted his grip on the reins, and felt Alice squeezing herself against his back. Below them, the horse whined. He was a quiet and gentle labor horse, one of the few mounts the forces of Essetir had managed to bring with them in their hasty to retreat into the forest. Lancelot had only one afternoon to get acquainted with the mount before he had to make a mad dash across a field of battle, and he still wasn't sure why he volunteered for it.

He could only blame it on their situation.

Green Ash was apparently as good as any fortress build by men, parts of the forest became marshlands with the melting of the snows, while the place itself was a labyrinth of forested hills, ditches and ruts. Numbers didn't matter when you could mount a resistance every thirty feet of terrain. It didn't make it a easy place to live though. Food was scarce in there, roots, frogs and fish were not enough to feed thousands of men and women, less keep them all in fighting shape for long. Soon enough everyone was hungry and in a bad mood.

As time passed, more and more Lancelot also realized the looks he received from other prisoners. The men from Camelot knew his name, and whenever he was walking around and they were kept tied up, the resentment hit him like a stone to the gut. The reality that he had been cut from the brotherhood he had just began to be part of, glaring at him from every corner and so, he kept busy as much as possible.

It wasn't like he had any choice when he found his hands being borrowed by Alice as she treated her people, his eyes watching the old woman delivering spells and treatment with the assurance of age and wit. It was like watching a mirror of Gaius if he was ever allowed to use magic.

He cooked and sharpened swords and pretty much lent his hands to whoever needed them. In the second day he began to know others in that army. Pylah, who was originally meant to guard him, actively showed him around, making introductions whenever he needed. It was like that that he realized how makeshift that army was. While he saw soldiers and men-at-arms, there were many common people among Essetir's ranks. Some of them were farmers; others were travelers who were only now, in a free land, beginning to understand their magic. He met druids, and brendui and renegade sorcerers, all sharing meals and singing their songs in the depth of the night.

It all came to head when Ruadan, Morgause's second in command, revealed the plan that had resulted from the many crows Lancelot saw flying back and forth from the forest.

"The Queen will make and attack upon Uther's forces guarding the western passage and that will be our chance to strike. " He explained to the listening crowd, arms behind her back, poised like a commander. "The distraction should attract enough men to make the fortifications vulnerable. We shall take advantage of that window and perform an overwhelming charge on their siege lines. Our goal is to not win, but to rejoin our queen!"

Lancelot had nodded, he had guessed as much. From what he gathered even if Essetir's army had been at full strength they wouldn't be enough to fight the army that marched from Camelot. "A first wave will crush the lines, allowing the second wave to charge in and carve a path through their camp. The wounded and weakest will come right after, you must get through their defenses and out of the field as fast as possible! Don't be mistaken, we cannot afford errors at this time!"

Alice and other healers, being essential to the army, would be crossing the battlefield with an escort made of the few available horses, and Lancelot, in a dash of madness offered himself. Arguments arose with his actions, but when Pylah vouched for him, there seemed to be very little to be done. No one would give him a sword however, his goal was to take Alice to safety and that was it.

"Get ready!"

Ruadan's voice might as well be a thunder, in the way it reached the entire line. They must make quiet the sight, although the dim light and the forest made it seem they were few and less. In the back of his mind, Lancelot listed the man's crimes: murder, sacking, conspiracy, treason. Pursing his lips, Lancelot kept his eyes ahead. It was hard to see much beyond the flimsy foliage. The light was dying in the west, bathing the world into a pitch black night, and then a crow sung in the skies, a high pitched call that followed Ruadan's orders. It was a signal that only sorcerers could send.

The first wave was a mass of bodies leaving the tree line, their cries entering his ears in a cacophony of rage and pent up anger, warriors with swords, men with spears, and others carrying improvised ladders and ramps. Bolts of echoes of spells came later as strings of them were repeated, flares of fire cut the skies to fall where he couldn't see.

"T-this is intense." Lancelot smiled, staring a little bit to his right, where Gili was mounted on a horse of his own.

"This isn't your first time is it?"

"No, I was in the fight against Lot." The lad said, making Lancelot feel old. "I lost a friend there; at least I think he was a friend. He was very old; I think he wanted to die."

"You don't?"

"Not really, no."

Gili was lad as he had been, leaving behind his home in searching for who he was and what he was meant to be. A far happier story than Lancelot's, but not absent of similarities.

A second horn had the second line following the first, and Lancelot knew that they would be running over toppled or conquered palisades as the half built defenses were torn apart by sheer numbers.

"We're next." He told Alice, so she would be ready.

Lancelot watched Gili again, seeing the boy fidgeting nervously, he kept checking for his ring, as if fearing the magical object would vanish in the blink of eye.

"Gili?"

"Yes?"

Lancelot smiled, because he understood. "Watch over me, will you?"

From the front, he could see Pylah's knowing smirk over her shoulder. When the signal came, Lancelot and the escort dug their heels on the horses' sides. Bring Alice to safety, he told himself once more. That was his mission, it was all he would do, nothing more, nothing less.

When he burst through the tree line, the first thing he noticed were the open paths on the dirt palisades, broken stake lines thrown aside, bridges thrown over conquered trenches as warriors, waving rowan tree banners over the conquered sections, shouted for him to move on. Pylah took the leadership, her sword bright in her hands, as Lancelot followed.

Camelot's previously organized defenses were now a mess of battle and gore. He saw corpses with red cloaks, and more with boiled leather, all thrown together, dead in the ditches and walls. Beyond his view, there was fight inside the camp, where many scarlet pavilions were now burning. Still, the people from Essetir kept their objective, flowing along like a river, sweeping through the leftover forces of the Four Kingdoms present.

For Lancelot, it was all he could do not to look to his sides, searching for familiar faces as he lowered himself against the horse's neck, turning away from a weapon's rack into a tight path between two walls of red tarp. Ahead of him Pylah crushed a sword through a man's face, casting a spell that made another man trip and fall on his face. He tried to get through, but there were more enemies coming from all sides. One of his escorts fell, an arrow going through the eye socket and the abandoned horse reared, kicking and screaming. It worked as a distraction. They turned right around a low table and Lancelot's horse reared in fear when an ax swung down in front of his nostrils. A man shouted at him, and he felt hands threatening to pull Alice from his back. The old woman yelled something and suddenly Gili was there, his sword slashing left and right at the men trying to overwhelm them.

He heard a horn blowing from far away, a gurgled scream emerged from the chaos and Lancelot gritted his teeth. The labor horse complained, but followed his urging, fleeing, muscles straining, eyes wide. On his waist, Alice's grip was a comfort as he gained speed, each time the horse hit the ground his body shook over the saddle. Then, before he knew it, he was riding in open grasslands. The torches and red tents were behind him and ahead, he saw torches by the thousands. He rode towards them, following the rest of the escort. When he came closer he was baffle to see that there were no torches. The light instead came from a floating ball of fire, fluttering like a ghost at his passage.

Others were coming through as well, and soon they were a group, and the group was told to move on and he did, relief flooding his senses.

"We did it." He mumbled, looking back. Alice was flushed and grinning the widest grin he saw on her face in the short time they knew each other.

"I must say, that was quite thrilling."

Feeling his mount tired, Lancelot climbed out of it. Now that they were safe, he would keep a slow pace for the poor horse. Meanwhile he also did his best not to think of what might be happening in battle. As far as he knew, Morgana's attack was a distraction, but people would die anyway, and the chances were always there that his friends might die as well. Hell, Gwen was probably in that camp he just rode through, he never wanted to think about her in any peril.

As the rest of Morgause's army begun to join them, they became a shapeless host, walking through night like lost lambs. Soon, news came that Ruadan was leading the rear to make sure no one would chase them, and the sorcerers who could conjured tiny balls of light that floated around their formation, a circle of stars stepping with them through the thick darkness. Alice complained a few times that her back was hurting, but she never asked to stop, they only did it when a woman, wearing a surcoat of yellow snakes suddenly rode inside their group.

"Mauren." Alice mumbled, happily.

"Keep going! Your Queen is right ahead! Keep going! There is food and water!" The woman went on shouting. "Anyone hurt is to be brought straight to the Queen, she will heal them! Keep going! There is…"

And as she moved away, further and further, Lancelot swallowed his own eagerness to follow and find his friends among the Camelot red. For better or for worse, however, his feet kept carrying him onwards.

Above him, the stars twinkled like faded certainties, on the ground the path led them into ridges that bent downwards into a valley. Riders came at some point, their shadows forming a protective ring around the formation and its slow progress. When the sun peaked from the east, Lancelot was barely aware of his surroundings, dragging his feet in sluggish movements through the tents of Morgana's camp. He wondered about banners, but looking up made him yawn and want to rest his head. Many others were like him it seemed, except for Alice who napped atop of the horse at some point and was now eager to resume her duties.

Lancelot was about to deal with his horse when the commotion began. A crowd moved through, rushed away by the eager voices closed to the center of the camp. Curiosity moved him after them, and soon he was finding his path through the crowd, into the main path. Like an open road, the army flanked a path all the way to a wide pavilion topped by a white dragon banner. Standing below the banner was a woman in chainmail and cloak, her dark hair and pale skin making her easy to recognize even from the distance.

What attracted the eager eyes of the crowd and Lancelot however, was the figure approaching and walking by. With the horn, even him could recognize the figure of tales, but atop of the unicorn he allowed his gaze to roam thirstily through familiar faces. Morgause was sitting in the middle, eyes ahead and that familiar pride lifting her chin. Arthur rode on the front, holding to the unicorn's mane, but behind them the vision of Guinevere was the sweetest of all, alive and determined.

Now aware of the situation, Lancelot moved away, advancing towards the pavilion. He managed a space between the sea of head right in front of where the three were dismounting, both helping the blond sorceress down and finally standing up to stare at Morgana.

And Lancelot suddenly forgot he wanted to sleep. No one was tired any longer, whispers arose, and voices quieted. Fate itself was holding its breath.


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