On the day Warin set off for the village, the snow had nearly melted. The stream nearby roared in a thousand garbled young voices as it rushed toward the river, swollen with the snowmelt. Warin held Emmae at the door of the cottage. A week's worth of wood stood under the eaves nearby, already chopped; Warin's enormous pack sat at his feet, stuffed with pelts and forage.
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Published on February 11, 2011 00:00