Thus begins my NaNoWriMo journey. Welcome to a world where it never stops snowing, and a young man must learn that to live… he must respect the dead.
The only warmth comes from the dead. The burning pyre lights up every flake that falls from the dark, dark sky. He must have been rich, I think as I inch ever closer to the glowing coals at the base of the pyre. Not everyone can afford coal.
“Aydrik, stay back. We must respect the dead.”
I turn and sulk away a few steps, letting the heat of the flames warm my back. I shoot Tannen a dirty look. He’s my mentor, and I have to do everything he says. He’s tall and thin. His thick brown mustache must keep his face warm. I can’t wait until I can grow a mustache. I’ll grow an entire beard. That should help when the…
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