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When a dulling eye and the ebb of breath meant an easing of hunger – for a while.


The dark forest presses on each side. The ice casts an iron band round your chest, snatching breath. But there ahead is fire, Solstice fire. Mid-winter blesses you, the festival of over-heating.
Look beyond the fire to the shadows. Do you see old people, near ghosts, sitting, waiting for the cold to take them? This is the real Midwinter; a time for hunger, when the old set themselves to die, to lighten the load on the rest.
The chains that bind you to your past will tighten and you will feel again the pounding heart, the ache of the chase, the smell of blood warm on the snow – the red and the white. Blood on the snow. Come to me and you shall see the rebirth of the sun. The glorious Solstice.

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