"Abores loqui latine," Ronan replied. "The trees speak Latin."

It was meaningless, a riddle perhaps, but nonetheless, Adam felt the hairs of his neck crawl. They all glanced at the trees that surrounded them; they were fenced by one thousand shades of green fastened to a million wind-blown claws.

"And the last line?" Gansey asked. "That last word doesn't look like Latin".

"Nomine appellant," Ronan read. "Call it by name." He paused. "Cabeswater".

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