taennyn: (Witches' Horses)
It was cold enough that there was a scattering of chemical snow on the floor, nitrogen, oxygen and hydrogen, the contents of the broken air pipes spilled out and frozen before they could escape into the dark.

Perfect, really. He wrenched a few more pieces loose, took a stab at the locked temperature settings--which after a few shrill demands for passwords froze up completely and melted most of the frost on the panel but no more--then relocated to the one spot in the broken izba that he could hear his sensor net's pings.

He'd scattered the hay. Now he just had to wait for the horses.
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April 2017

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