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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
“I know you didn’t say that.” Summer’s frustrated. She’d thought maybe if she didn’t think about it, distracted herself taking care of Mordred — and that wasn’t working. “Something isn’t right, and I don’t know what it is.”
“Then we should indeed go.”
She pushes her hair out of her face, chewing on her lip. “I think — I think it’s my twin,” she says, quietly. “I think maybe I shouldn’t wait very long. I’m sorry. She lapses into the language of her homeland. “Rwy’n flin, mae hyn yn mynd i fod ofnadwy.”