Left for Dead
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The air is sharp and piercing. The rain falls thick and fast, pattering noisily among the leafless bushes. You lie in a wet ditch, your left arm throbbing with a dull, heavy pain. It is wrapped rudely in a shawl, saturated with blood.
Sikes and Toby Crackit have abandoned you. You are alone, cold, and feverish. A creeping sickness at your heart warns you that if you stay here, you will surely die.
Through the mist, you see the vague outline of a house in the distance.