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The cool night air feels brisk against your skin, but not uncomfortably so. The sound of grass and leaves rustling in the gentle wind compete with the chorus of insects, undisturbed as you brush through the open field.
You look up in the night sky and see a billion constellations infinite pricks of light, all staring back at you. Down by your feet, an extinguished campfire lay smoldering. Was it the thin pillar of smoke, silhouetted against the full moon, that brought you here? Or something else entirely?
Your motives at this point feel like nothing but distant memories, as you lock eyes with something else, staring right back at you from across the clearing. It's golden eyes reflecting the dim moonlight, examining your form, before slinking back into the long grass.
As you stood frozen, you realized you were trespassing on foreign land, dictated by creatures of unknown motives. Your hand goes to the pommel of your sword, and you carry on, carefully.
Tread boldly, weary traveller.
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