Huginn: Like lightning licking the face of heaven, or a chariot of the skies, a phoenix, a deathbird rising, I challenged her.

Muninn: Her? I couldn't tell from low orbit.

H: She hasn't been around for some time. There are troubles in her native land.

M: Why challenge her? The poor lonely thing is one of a kind.

H: Well, so am I. And I dislike lightning.

M: One of a kind? That, you are most emphatically not.

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