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... . Smoke hung in the branches like an old cloth someone forgot to take down.

Lindarion stood a few paces out. Still. Hood down. Shoulders relaxed. Not hiding, but not offering anything either.

He watched the treeline, the patterns in the snow, the shift of shadows.

Behind him, someone scraped out a bowl. Metal against tin. Soft voices passed around the flame, dull and tired.

No one called to him.

'Good.'

The cold settled in slow, almost patient. It ...

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