. . .

Such concerns would not have held them long.

They are magical jaguars, you know, in an endless decaying orbit around the planet.

They are better than that.

But while they are dithering and procrastinating and making their excuses the shadow of Thon-Gul X moves in the substrate.

It reinforces the scissors-mind. It falls upon the jaguars as a weight of dread. It is cold. It is still. It surpasses and it transfixes them.

It freezes them.

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