Cold out.

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"Jonathon. Jonathon Kwolchic is his name."

An awkward silence fell across the two. All that could be heard was the consistent din of the crowd. The two of them leaned on a bridge going over a river. The city's lanterns had started floating around the town since it was getting dark out.

"Right...and you're telling me these stories because?"

He looked at her sheepishly, gently laying his shortsword on his hands.

"I don't know why. I don't know why I know the things that I do. But I know them. And I can't let these stories die."

He put the sword away and flicked his cloak aside, concealing it completely.

"...His name is John...and this is his story."

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