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Summary
Erik was seven the first time he saw a man die. Or somewhere around that age. He’d never been too good at counting the winters. His mother used to laugh when he’d pause and think about it, try to recall when last he remembered.
It was too young, Erik had thought at the time. He worried he was missing something, worried seeing that death would reveal it.
Too old to hide from it, his father said. Death came for them all one day, and it was better to take it head on. No son of his would cower from it, no matter the age.
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Erik's life in scattered memories