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Our medieval re-enactment society is not actually for re-enactment.
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Gabriel ducks to avoid a sweep of the dragon's tail tip over his head. "Okay. Get moving, I think we might need me in a hurry - yes, thank you healers that is quite sufficient -"

(The healers look like they would really like to put more bandages on their prince, but they back off when he shakes them off.) 

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Sergia books it for the best tree she's aware of, a great old conifer with branches like a ladder that stay thick enough to go out on for twenty feet up. Gauntlets and vambraces go in a pile at the base of the tree and she starts climbing. A branch gets stuck in her visor and she yanks it out. Up up up until she hits the tradeoff between height and not being able to get all the way to the end. Feet on one big horizontal branch, hands on the next one up, scoot scoot scoot until it starts to bend under her weight. The branch in her hands has enough length left that it's blocking the space for the prince to go through; she breaks it off--keeping a firm grip on the trunk end--and shoves the fan of twigs and needles aside, to get caught on some other branch a few feet down. And then she leans out and waves to Prince Gabriel.

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