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lung to Helen's flannel shirt. She knelt in the mud, her fi
her face. It carried the heavy,hunting cat. She dropped the fern. Her right hand moved to her thigh, her fingers wrapping around the col
trunk of an old oak tree for cover, she moved forwa
cluster of ferns. A man
ive fabric was soaked and ruined, comp
eath. She scanned the tree line, listening for the snap of twigs or the heavy
slick with cold sweat. His breathing was shallow, a wet rattling sound in his chest.
She pressed two fingers har
ngerously low. Her mind calculated the symptoms in
pressed into his skin, t
he raw, violent intent of a dying beast. He forced his arm up. His larg
blank. She didn't flinch. Her
lf up. His muscles trembled, failing him. He realized with a
a fraction of a second, she broke his grip and bent h
et go if you want to keep breathing," she stated.
ng calm in her eyes forced his survival in
d straight up the center of his ruined Armani sh
stomach muscles locked up tight, his bod
iping away the poisoned blood. She pulled a crudely carved wooden vial filled with a foul-smelling, dark liquid from a canvas pouch. Wi
ground together. "Who the hell are you
unbleached cotton cloth and wrapped it tightly a
quarter-mile away. The faint, rhythmic crunch of h
rappers and the empty wooden vial ba
g the weight of his body against the speed of the approachin
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