The boy brought the girl this tale, and others too, all the new stories he could gather, in the early days when he was allowed near her. In those moments, it was easy to believe that Izumrud still lived somewhere, waiting to be woken by the call of heroes, dreaming of the fi ne meal he would have if only some hapless child would walk into his mouth. Strange sounds echoed through the dim warren of tunnels, groans and unexplained rumblings cold pockets of silence were broken by low hisses that might be nothing or might be the sinuous movement of a long body, snaking closer through a nearby passage in search of prey. It was just a story, but in the White Cathedral, people were careful not to stray too far from the passages that curled around the main caverns. Sick with appetite, he ate up silt and gravel, burrowing deeper and deeper into the earth, searching for something to satisfy his hunger, until he’d gone too far and lost himself in the dark. The monster’s name was Izumrud, the great worm, and there were those who claimed he had made the tunnels that ran beneath Ravka.
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