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Weekly Contest #37
The forest was quiet that night. The usual symphony of owl calls, brush-rustling, and ever-screeching chirps of crickets seemed to have gone silent. Even the wind that normally howled between the trees seemed to be quieter, more subdued than usual. It was as if the entire wood was holding its breath, waiting for something. Aryn shivered and tightened his cloak around his shoulders, glancing warily into the brush as he did. He hated hunting at night, but winter would soon be here, and his family needed to build up the stocks of meat before th...
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