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. Gylar sighed. Although he had nowhere else to go,
he didn't want to stay in this place of death. His eyes swept
over Mount Phineous. The towering mountain still looked
over-poweringly out of place, like a sentinel sent by the
gods to watch over the low, hilly country. The top fourth of
it was swept by clouds. Another result of the Cataclysm, the
mountain seemed a counterpart of the new swamp. Brutal
and imposing, powerful, the towering rock was the opposite
of the silent, sneaky swamp of death.
His fatigue overcame his sadness and revulsion, at least
for the moment. Slowly, he made his way back to the house,
back to the dead house. Stopping in the doorway, Gylar
turned around to look at the land that was growing cold with
winter. It was likely going to snow today.
He turned and slammed the door shut behind him. It
didn't matter. Nothing much mattered anymore. His limbs
dragged at him heavily. Sleep, he thought, that's all. Sleep,
then, when I wake up - if I wake up - I'll figure out what to
do.
So, for the first time in three days, Gylar slept.
*****
Eyes focused on his prey, Marakion stilled his
breathing, though a haze of white drifted slowly from his
mouth. The scruffy man before him leaned heavily against
the tree, huffing frosty air as he tried to recover from the
run. Although exhausted, the man never once turned his
fearful eyes from Marakion.
"A merry chase, my friend," Marakion said in a voice
that was anything but merry
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