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. No matter the precipitous slopes before me,
nor how deep the depths of snow! Not even the icy bite of
the killing wind shall deter me, nor make me long for this
comfortable fire ... the fire that even now sends its warmth
to my bones and soothes my weary muscles and promises
to restore life to my poor, benumbed fingers. The fire, and a
little spiced wine ...
Forgive me - once again I lose my path.
In short, I pen this note to you tonight, Most Esteemed
Historian, in the hopes that you soon shall receive the
remainder of my tale. But even in the one scroll I have
perused I have discovered a story of relevance to my earlier
work. I admit, however, that I present it to you with some
embarrassment, since it seems to contradict an incident I
had earlier reported.
The scroll I read is the family journal of Horgan
Oxthrall - the young warrior I told you about who
miraculously drew away the oxen at the Battle of Thoradin
Bridge. It was written later in his life, in 92 PC, to be
precise, as he worked in the service of his thane.
Horgan recalls, in this journal, the story of that day of
battle, when the human invasion had been broken. He
described that sturdy wooden river-crossing that he had
only later learned was called Thoradin Bridge
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