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Summary
“Hello,” the blond haired man paused in his fire-making to smile at him, “I saw you up there. Do you need some shelter? A storm is coming.”
“Yes, if you don’t mind me,” Kazuha returned the friendly gesture, smiling back at the man as he stepped through the threshold.
A distinct scent met his nose like a punch to the chest.
The tent smelled of alpha.
