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[Storm clouds are gathering over a part of the city again. The dead walk.

Saul, alive and looking well, is a short way away from the doors of the warehouse where he met his end, two weeks past, not standing, but kneeling, head bowed and hands together. Praying softly in his own language, a rising and falling murmur. The words are unintelligible, but full of intent.

As he rises to his feet, a wind sweeps up around him. Nothing of his power has been lessened by death, it seems.]


Make this a first sacrifice.


[The lightning bolt punches clean through the roof of the building, smashing it to pieces and shattering every window. Soon a fire is burning. In some hours, the place where he died would be nothing but ash and ruins.

Saul nods to himself, in profound satisfaction. He salutes the pyre.]


Praise spirits, land and gods. I am alive.

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Saul Samaren

December 2020

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