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After hurriedly saying a few apologies, Kuboert fled from the crowd, standing in the corner of the banquet hall, breathing in the chilly air seeping through the window cracks. He loosened the tight collar around his neck to let himself breathe a long sigh of relief.
He felt exhausted, his muscles sore, and most unbearable was the throbbing pain in his head, as if a volcano kept erupting. It wasn't the first time he'd participated in such a long prayer—in fact, this year's warming ritual had been considerably shortened—and skipping breakfast was clearly not the cause of his headache. He just felt as though all the strength had been drained from his body, as if he had fought for seven days and nights, and he barely had the energy to think.
