Once again, the headlight of the train found a lone figure standing next to the tracks hidden in drifts of snow. The man dressed in a northern plains duster that hung to his ankles, with a waistcoat and dark pants, watched the train as it passed by with the rush of wind and weight.

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It reached out to touch the passing steel and wood, its finger never touching the train, but a line of ice grew from the proximity of its flesh.