The wind howled with the anguish of the dying.
Its lament carried all across the Lash.
There was no caress. No gentle cradling. It wasn’t the season for that. Not this far north. Not deep in the heart of the Black Winter.
The wind sliced brutally at Mavnos’s skin, shaper than any blade.
He put his head down, pulling his scarf tighter around his throat. The wool covered his mouth, but still... [click here for more]
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