In Which I Sort Of Destroy A Town But Not Really

“I told you!” cried Selladore as we stood watching my beloved pig sinking into the watery abyss.
We’d made it several miles, winding through the ranks of gnarled frozen fingers, when Margaret had misplaced her trotter and plunged through the ice. The hole around her grew, and within seconds she was in the middle of a large watery ring. She didn’t do a very good job of treading water. Through the ice, we watched the vague pink shape of my steed sink away from us.
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