"I should." He hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Everyone has a thread on the loom of fate. As their Messenger I can see where they begin, I see where they end. I exist to nudge things into place, to untangle the skein... and sometimes to cut the strands. Your strand is blurred from my sight... like something shifting just out of the corner of my vision."
Her smile tugged at something in him, like a light tug on the thread of his of fate. "Maybe I am," he said distractedly, "not running from, but to... perhaps.
"And you, what has sent you out into the cold? Why are you here?"
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