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Ghost had been a soldier before he’d met Old Crow.

He remembered wearing his armour proudly, keeping his blade sharpened and always following orders.

Old Crow had brought him mischief. Old Crow had whispered poison in his ear and kissed death on his lips.

He imagined his armour had long ago rusted and rotten.

It had been quite some time since he’d watched the cherry blossoms bloom from the window of his home.

Old Crow had taken that from him.

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