“Am I a monster?” Andrev asked.
Rastaban looked up from where he was sharpening a sword. “What makes you ask?”
Andrev lifted a hand to his forehead. “These are the marks of a demon, are they not? My mother was some sort of harlot who lay with a demon, but they keep me and say I’m a gift from the gods because I can hear the way animals think and I always know where they are and I never have to hunt because the animals let themselves be killed and --”
Rastaban shook his head. “You’re no demon; you’re a boy.”
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