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He was born for it --
the skies, the canopy of lights, their endless depths. The ultimate communion, fusion of two bodies and minds into the most beautiful, perfect creature.
Before that, he was always the first to shake off the dirt that clung so heavily to his limbs, to wash carefully, removing any last trace of soil and mud. By now, their stains are faded. There will never be any new ones.
Never. And that's how has to be, how it's right. He can't fault what's part of himself --
as little as he can leave it behind.
Ever.
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