The things below are moving, but they are not alive. One by one she raised her heads towards the three wolves up the hill, the last thing to look at was Thistle. She was dressed in wool, fur, and leather, and over it all a coat of frost that creaked when she moved and shimmered in the moonlight, and from her fingertips hung pale pink icicles, ten long knives of congealed blood... And in the two holes her eyes were occupied by a pale blue light that flickered, illuminating her features Rough is a strange beauty that she had never known in her life
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