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AMONGOL, KNOCKED INTO a cook fire during the initial surge of horsemen, had lived long enough to run-shirt and hair on fire-into the rows of tents. Rutger assumed he had died from the burns, but before he had expired, the flames had leaped from him to several tents. The fire was spreading, and a haze of ash and embers was starting to fill the air. A storm of glittering snow.

( Neal Stephenson )
[ The Mongoliad: Book Three ]
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