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With a fire properly lit, nights at Wintergarde were mostly warm inside but with frigid cold lingering in every corner. Retreating into the keep against the bitter wind that bit against her cheeks and neck, Arialynn lit another fire in the pot belly stove of the barracks. A few moments later, a bundled young man came in, delivering a packet of papers bound in leather. 

The lady knight began a vigil by the fire, examining the papers with a cup of hot tea and another glass of whiskey at her side. She went on, unrelenting, glasses draining then refilling, sleepless through dawn.

Author Ari
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