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Greetings, young ‹namn›. I oftentimes come here to look upon the ancient anchor pylon. Gifts from the spirits of the winds, they bind and sustain our island. Of late however, their magic has grown unstable and inconsistent. They suffer no distress I can see. Their splendor has not changed. If you'd like, I can lend you my gift to look upon them yourself.
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Thank you for taking a moment to share this with me. I will continue to watch over the grove, and ponder on the state of our homeland.