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I am the southron gale. The samoon of the burning sands. I am the locust wind. The storm of the waste and the barren field. I am the mother of pandemic, and from my maw issues the breath of pestilence, my womb, famine and blight. Know my touch and know the withering of the field and the flesh. The drying of the river, the stalk and the bone. The sinking of the earth, the cheek and the eye. I am the southron gale and I blow once again.

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