They came silently from the dancing shadows among the trees and made slowly for the fire, taking shape as they moved into the light. “Ninefingers,” said the first. “Ninefingers,” the second. “Ninefingers,” the third, voices like the thousand sounds of the forest. “You’re right welcome to my fire,” said Logen. The spirits squatted and stared at him without expression. “Only three tonight?” The one on the right spoke first. “Every year fewer of us wake from the winter. We are all that remain. A few more winters will pass, and we will sleep also. There will be none of us left to answer your
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