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What are you doing here, Sam?
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On the morning of my 18th nameday, my father came to me.
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"You're almost a man now," He said...
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"but you're not worthy of my land and title.
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Tomorrow, you're going to take the black,
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forsake all claim to your inheritance and start north.
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If you do not," He said...
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"then we'll have a hunt
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and somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble
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and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die.
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Or so I'll tell your mother.
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Nothing would please me more."