"Good afternoon. Can I help you?" I heard the huntsman say, his thick boots treading lightly through the snow. My ears swept up the jingle of a chain. Glancing over, I saw a mace in the man's hand, studded with jagged teeth and weighty enough to smash the skull of a wolf or a mountain lion. I knew it would never touch my skin, but my pulse quickened as I thought of the huntsman.
"You live here?" The solider demanded. I recognized his voice with a sickening vagueness. I knew him, but I couldn't remember how. The strums of his vocal cords were locked deep down somewhere inside my memory, hiding from me.
"Yes." The huntsman replied, offering no additional information, as usual.
"You own this land?"
"I do."
"And do you live alone?" The soldier asked impatiently. I tensed.
"My parents are dead and I have no other kin," He replied.
"You have no wife?" My vision cleared enough for me to see the man's face as his eyebrows rose and his mouth tilted in surprise. I bit my lip. It was him.
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