The black mare, Shadowmere, plunged chest-deep through the powdery snowdrifts of the Devil's Tooth pass, her breath exploding in violent, rhythmic plumes of white steam against the midnight gale. Mira leaned low over the saddle, her obsidian wool cloak pinned tightly against her shoulders, her gloved fingers numb where they gripped the leather reins. Above them, the jagged, sawtooth peaks of the northern range loomed like black fangs against a…
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