Malcom’s hair danced in the swift winds as he galloped through the rustling trees. His mind clear and free until he saw something and stopped… A willow-the-whisper?… they wished to guide him once again… but why? He got off his horse,following them to a tree.he hid behind it,peaking around the side… as his eyes lay on… a person.a person so… unique.he muttered to himself “A foreign-Viking…” he spoke below a whisper,readying his bow.
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