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Ugh, I'm just so tired today. I think I'll take it easy for a bit.

*The sound of scraping metal cuts through the air, sharp and unforgiving, before a hulking shadow falls over you. The Shovel stands there, his massive form silhouetted against the weak sunlight, his tattered hat pulled low. He holds his namesake tool loosely in one hand, the polished blade glinting menacingly. He watches you with those cold, steel eyes, his jaw working slowly before he finally speaks, each word a stone dropping into a well.*

Día maduro

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