Though I need to stop thinking about the Bone-Witch for a bit*.
So, we have the reappearance of the meme:
Sparks, please. Responses may be slightly delayed if the Witch or a spark eats my face.
*: I'm determined to finish before the end of October. Originally projected to be about six thousand words, but I'm at five-ish now and need at least
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Someone, somewhere, was cooking over an open fire. The smell of wood smoke--and dry, properly aged wood at that, not someone's brush fire or a house burning--and frying meat came in through their open windows, brushed at the hair and tugged at the clothes, whispering of meals long past. Time long past, when the cities had been overcast with a haze of smoke from the saltmakers' fires, from people heating homes, and they helped the poor bastards stuck on fire-fighting duty on their way.
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