The cold weather followed Dem as he walked into The Prancing Pony. He insides churned with conflicting emotions. The only reason he returned to Bree was because his mom might be dead soon. Hope existed, but he wouldn't let himself hope until certainty existed. On the other side, Bree, the place of his birth, didn't close the gates to him. That amused him. He no longer looked like that fourteen year old they shoved out slamming the gates behind him. He no longer stole petty items from petty people.
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Whisky Love
