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The Shadow and The Glacier

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The black shadow stood at the end of a lonely mile, snow swirling in a mist about the knees. The face was mostly covered, only the frozen blue eyes peeped from the hooded blackness. The stance was strong, as the figure was strong, and the stance betrayed icy fearlessness.

Another figure stood at the half of the lonely mile. It was different than the other in its entirety. Where the other was cloaked in black, this was cloaked in white, and the black eyes glared from the hooded whiteness, burning in unrelenting fury.

The white figure began walking, cloak shifting over the long stride. Its pace was purposeful, and carried the figure toward the shadow with ferocious speed. The figure’s gloved hand was plunged within the cloak’s deep pocket and as the white figure drew near to the black, the hand was pulled and curved outward in an arch toward the shadow.

But the black had always been quicker. The hand was popped and the fingers squeezed behind the black explosion. The white figure froze, the legs buckled, and the body pitched backward, a lump of snow with a crimson flower blossoming from the hillock.

The shadow’s hand was lowered and the legs extended to fly toward the snow dune. The shadow pulled off the black hood and at last the girl’s face was open to the biting wind. She pulled the white hood away from the other face. A cruel smile turned her lips upward as she recognized the man who’d once been her lover. Pulling the black shroud down over her face, she overstepped the white hillock and continued on her way, a shadow of glacial indifference.





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