The towering Hermit looks down at the small figure reaching for the lantern in his hand, puzzled:
“Your path is already lit in bright red. Your whole being glows—why are you asking me for the lantern that’s meant to guide me?”
The follower responds silently.
“This lantern doesn’t block wind. Its light is weak. Without it, I’ll be swallowed by darkness, unable to find my way home.”
Still reaching, the figure insists.
“This light is mine. I cannot give it to you,” the Hermit finally says.
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