Morg awoke with a start. It was pitch black; his fire had
gone out. His heart started pounding; he would freeze if he didn’t get it
started again. The mountains air was frigid. He felt around; he could feel the warm
ground where his fire had gone with his left hand, the demon hand. He reached
for the spot with his right hand, drawing it back in pain when he touched the
hot remnants of the fire. He stopped and blew on his hand. As he was shaking
the stinging pain away he realized that he wasn’t cold at all.
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