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It is the 23rd hour in the night. You may be asleep curled up tight. This hour isnt on your normal clock a sound man wouldn’t even notice his has stopped. Deep in the glade where time stands still, a twilight fir is about to give her last will. The Mewn is the first to smell the starlight sap, rousing quickly from a thousand year nap. Turning around to show his true colors, the Mewn focuses the fir, a lighthouse for the others.

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