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Night on the Mountain

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Fists clench, futile, as muscles still strain sporadically against leather and metal.

The deepening chill of impending dawn does little to cool overheated flesh, except to wick sweat slightly from the dark silk sash across his forehead, soaked through during the night.

He flinches slightly as the gloved finger returns again, trailing slowly down his torso, and arches once more against the beam, solid and unyielding behind him.

The mountain sunrise refuses to hurry.