Ahri's
nine tails swished: a nervous tic. Her sharpened senses warned of
danger. Crouched in the shadow of a towering willow she listened,
watched, and waited. She had observed the villagers for weeks: watching
from afar, but never trusting herself to approach. She heard families
talking over dinner, the laughs of women who might have been her
sisters, and the games of children. Ahri would listen for hours on end,
tearing herself away only when the longing grew too sharp...
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