Seronaer leant on her father’s spear, his shield slung across her back as she marched, bent beneath her burdens and her troubles. Long had the march been, over perilous, grinding ice and through bitter, frozen winds. The great hills of ice crashing together as the water beneath them tossed and turned, jolting their host forwards and backwards.
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| A Long-overdue Party (Silwe Memorial) November 14th, 2026 |
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