The Distant Wound
The spearhead bit into the wet earth of the northern ridge, and the vibration traveled up through the ashwood shaft, up through Callum’s calloused palms, and into the marrow of his shoulders. It was a cold morning, the kind that settled into the joints like lead, but the blood in Callum’s hands was hot, churning with the frantic, primal energy of the hunt. He was not alone. Behind him, the line...
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