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The Fire of Lost Grace
As one group maneuvering, much like a flock of birds, you can smell the scent of low tide mingling with this sweetness in the air that seems to permeate the atmosphere of the lands between. You glance a little ways beyond the breeze-blown grass to see, first, a small broken ruin that pushes partly onto the beach. And then about 200 feet beyond that looks to be a small campfire, like a burning bit of flame, that's set a little ways inward from where the shorelaces are. On a beach, there's no chance that this flame is on the end of a hand holding a torch that's sticking out of the sand with a woman's head.