Sprinkles of Snow by Tamatoa

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"Even the rain"

From Grundy.


Maglor slips on the mud and the hand of the soldier beside him steadies him. He doesn’t recognize her, though that may just be the flickering fire-lit dark and blood-mud shadows painting all their faces in unchosen shades.

There are screams, distantly. The crackling roar of dragon fire and the rasping bellow of orcish commanders. Maglor’s ears twitch as raindrops plat pathetically against their furry shells.

Much good it’ll do now.

Maglor has but one, incongruous thought as he watches burning gold crawl closer across the battlefield: the rain will do terrible things to his war paint. What a waste.


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