Beyond the swaying torch-lines waits the first gate—yet those flames draw patterns that doom a moving silhouette; confront the pair and announce yourself with steel, or glide through what little shadow the night still offers?

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The cloak is flung back, the blade flashes silver in torch-light, the hero roars and charges.

Wool pulled over mouth, every foot-step landing inside the grass and the black lines between the torch circles.

Shadow