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Thundering hooves. Three riders coming over the ridge.

(His fingers curl around the rock he's been trying to hammer this iron off his wrist with, just in case.)

Three riders. Armed. One older than the other two; that one speaks first:

"We're riding towards Absolution. You know how far west we are?"

(He has no idea.)

A younger one -- maybe ( Read more... )

Buzzing ( Read more... )