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At the helm Birdie was de Graffe, fearless and fair, loved by the crew.
They crested the last dune before the beach and all went tumbling, cartwheeling down to the firmer sand of the shoreline, along which lay the
A groan escaped her. It was going to be a long, hot day made even hotter by the fires. IT was time to start making tar, a task Birdie loathed, though truthfully there weren't any tasks she didn't loath. She wanted to spend all day at the Arkhangelsk, with the new pot, with her sister, even her brother, even her cousins and her brother combined would be better than fetching wood and dried reeds all day and feeding them into ovens.
She stood up and wiggled her feet, letting them sink into the sand up to her ankles.
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