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A note from the front while awaiting news of anything resembling a baseball thing at all

For the sixteenth consecutive day we are camped at the base of a mountain in dense forest with snow falling all around as provisions dwindle. We move a little every day and yet we are always upon another mountainside, or marching up and through it. We tend to the horses and the elephants and each other as each can manage. When one of us falls we have learned to keep moving. The animals are worth a little bit more to the generals.

Each evening as the scouts return we hope for news that the end of this mountain range has been spotted.