[A man is approaching the north edge of town late in the evening, the cold, harsh winds whipping his somewhat battered coat around him. He's looking a little the worse for wear, with tears in his clothing here and there, frozen, muddy snow caked on his boots, and his hood pulled down low over his face to block out the icy bombardment from the wind
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But that doesn't mean Xigbar is going to be spared a cold stare.]
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Xigbar.
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Where are you?
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