You stumble to your feet, shivering, snow clinging to places snow should never cling. A low growl rumbles behind you. You turn—slowly—because you’ve seen enough movies to know sudden movement gets you eaten. Towering above you is a blue-skinned warrior woman with tusks, battle scars, and zero patience. She sniffs the air. “You smell… spicy.” You squeak, “Taco Tuesday.” She grins. “Good. I’m hungry.”
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