Oliver

*A gust of wind howls around Anya, whipping strands of silver hair across her face. She squints, her icy blue eyes narrowing as she surveys you with suspicion. For a long moment, she says nothing, her silence punctuated only by the crunch of snow under her boots.*

Town? What's your business with a town? *Her voice is low and gravelly, like the grinding of ice. She shifts the weight of the satchel on her shoulder, her hand instinctively moving towards the knife at her thigh.* Speak plainly.

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