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On Imbloc night, after all the festivities and fuss are over, redcaps banished and bikes abandoned and claimed, all is quiet in the Lodge. Guests sleep comfortably tucked in hither and yon. The Balefire crackles quietly to itself, refreshed and renewed......
...... then suddenly ROARS into a snapping, popping, leaping rage of exultant light and heat, slapping the mantle with exuberance.....
..... before settling back into its banked comfort for the night.
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