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As he threaded his way beneath the shadows of the pine-trees, the sun's fingers darted through the branches and drew a golden pattern on the mossy ground under his feet; the mosquitoes hummed drowsily, the air was full of soft summer warmth and brightness but Atven's thoughts were far away with the ancient legend and the Stone-maiden.
As soon as it was daylight the next morning, he started off to ask the advice of his one friend, the old Priest of Adgard. The day was fine, with a crisp northern air, and a bright sun that danced on the long stretches of sandy grass, and on the swaying boughs of the fir trees. Atven's heart beat hopefully as he neared the neat wooden house in which the old Priest lived.
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