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Weekly Contest #321
Someone was in Cassius’s cottage. He stood frozen amid the soft snowfall as he tracked how the prints emerged from the far side of the forest, wandered through the clearing, and eventually ended at Cassius’s front door. The marks couldn’t have been made very long ago. The snow only began to fa when Cassius shot the buck slung over his shoulder. Its body was still warm. “Being retired used to mean something.” He growled. He slid the deer off his broad shoulder and into the snow with a grunt. “The audacity.” Th...
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