The Gator's Crown
The alligator lay on the table like a fallen god, its scales still glistening with the wet darkness of the swamp, its tail twitching with the last memory of muscle. Jasper Whitfield stood over it with a knife and a hunger that had nothing to do with food. The hunter who had killed it—some man named Croft, from the edge of the delta—had told him what to do. Eat the meat, the man had said. It...
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