THE TESTIMONIAL OF P.T. LYFANTOD — Aminus Bones

TWENTY TWO

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AMINUS BONES           By the time they approached the school fifteen long, painful minutes later, Flint had run out of energy for making off-color remarks, and instead had settled for a rhythmic huffing that alternated with his steps.  Lyfantod, who was in fair shape himself, could only sympathize.  The potion had returned much of his vitality.  Had healed his wounds, and washed his aches and pains away like a touch of the hand of God himself.  But for all that, Old Man Winter was still determined to beat him into shivering submission.  The snow blinded, melting...

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