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Weekly Contest #281
The first rays of dawn painted the sky in pale hues as he crouched at the water's edge, muscles aching from a night of prowling. Small birds had begun their morning songs, their calls marking the transition from his hunting time to theirs. The stars were fading, replaced by streaks of orange and pink that reminded him of fresh meat. Water lapped against his bloodied mouth, sending ripples across the river's surface, disturbing his reflection – the face of an old hunter, battle-scarred and graying around the muzzle. A wound in his hindquarter...
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