[Tonight, Archie is out in the woods, walking along the river instead of the path toward the southern lake. Something about being away from the village, in the solitude of the woods, with the sky going on for miles above him, is closer than anything else to the openness of the sea. The strange thing is that Archie was never too poetic about the
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buffy tags on a brief, untidy reply: ] Where'd it go? [ with no idea who wrote it or why, she's curious. ]
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[ her written communication is nigh telegraphic; buffy dislikes to write. ]
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...she really doesn't think your hair looks like that, archie. really. ]
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I'm not entirely convinced the pen is your calling.
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