[It's dark, and at first nothing is visible. There's a steady, rhythmic chopping, and the sound of wood falling to the ground. There's a sigh heard, and a pause before footsteps as the person moves closer. Movement, Faldain reaching for a cloak to cover himself with as he slips into view, walking towards Matt, who is sitting nearby.]
"Here, have
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Regardless, you both have plenty of firewood, now.
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[Wry]
Though some simply call me Dain.
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