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The little wolf trots off into the

distance and the soldier tells his

friends to wait up as

well.  When he arrives, with his

friends, they are talking about

who they’re going to

hurt when they arrive

at Carthage. They all

laugh like their stories are

burning logs and

their impending sense of doom

is a wet, and cold wind.  They

want to see it burn, baby,

burn, baby, burn.

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