The Wistful Saga
The blood was still warm on Edmund’s hands when he looked up from the gut of the wolf and saw the figure standing at the edge of the tree line, a silhouette carved from the deepening twilight, and for a moment the world held its breath in the silence of the pines. He did not run, for his legs were locked in a rigid paralysis born of a fear so profound it had transcended terror and settled into...
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