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“Well, come on,' said Hyacinthe. 'Unless you want me to carry you.''

'Carry me? What a delightful offer. You can bear me in your arms like a maiden in a fairy tale.'

Hyacinthe rolls his eyes. 'I can throw you over my shoulder like a sack of grain.'

'Then I suppose I shall walk,' Oak says, hoping he can.”
― Holly Black, The Prisoner’s Throne