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We were born in the same hour, beneath the brilliant desert stars. They pierced my ear and his and mingled our blood. I drank his motherís milk, and he mine. Before I walked I rode his back, and slept nestled in the curve of his trunk.
When we came to maturity they taught us the art of war. We rode to battle and our foes fell before us. They tattooed my flesh and his with the record of our kills.
Now spears have pierced my heart and his. Again our blood mingles, and we share the hour of our deaths.
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