The Hunt
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blood between my fingers
the eyes of the prey, closing in death
the sisters moons taking the colors
23
Apr 2020

He ran, like a wind, like a strong gust of fresh air dancing between the trees, sweeping away the leaves, and kicking the soil with his claws. The forest was catching him in its embrace and welcoming him as its ruler, the only one who really owned it.

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//   Article written by skekMal  //