The old wizard was standing in the doorway when Morg
emerged from the woods. The boy saw a sad understanding in the fleshwarper’s
eyes when he met the man’s gaze. Silently, Urik opened the cabin door.
Understanding the wordless beckoning, Morg bowed his haggard face and dragged
himself towards the inviting light of the familiar fire.
Still silent, Morg seated himself before the hearth, just
like he used to after Urik saved him. Mechanically, he wrapped himself in a blanket,
scratchy as he remembered, and felt himself relax. Wordlessly, Urik handed him
a steaming cup. Morg took a large gulp.
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