The Covenant of the Forest
ACT I The mountain air in October tasted of pine resin and woodsmoke. James Calloway knelt beside the torn canvas bag and stared at the scattered crumbs. Five loaves of bread. Gone. He had baked them at dawn, before the sun crested the ridge. His hands were still dusted with flour. His shoulders still ached from the hike up the trail—three miles of steep switchbacks through hardwood and...
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