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. Then the
storm could tear across the mountains, then the wolves
could howl until they were hoarse. It wouldn't matter. Tanis
could almost hear Flint scolding and grumbling about two
young fools who couldn't come right back, but must linger
to catch their deaths in the storm. Beneath it all would run
Tas's chattering and incessant, never-ending questions.
Their miserable burdens of fuel would feed a crackling fire
to thaw hands and feet they could no longer feel.
Thinking to share the encouragement with Sturm toiling
silently behind, he turned, squinting into the blinding snow.
"Sturm! Soon!" he shouted.
Sturm looked up. Ice rimned his hair, long streaks of
white scored his face where the cold had bitten. "What?"
"Soon! We're almost - "
It might have been instinct that made Tanis slip
immediately out of his pack and reach for his bow and
quiver. Or it might have been the look of wide-eyed horror
on Sturm's face. He never heard the wolf's roar, or the
slavering snarl of its mate. He only felt the heavy weight
where it caught him behind the knees and drove him with
all the force of its hundred pounds face first into the snow.
His bow was beneath him, his dagger still sheathed at his
belt
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