January 06, 2019, 03:26 PM
It had been days since she'd seen the brute that stole her away, the one who (she thought) had killed her husband Phox; days since she'd had the capacity to hunt, to look out for herself. Her coat was ragged from the salt of the coast and her body was aching all over, but she persisted. Travel was slow because she was frightened, deer-like in her spontaneous jolts of activity or wide-eyed fixation upon the shadows. They grew, those shadows. Sometimes Camilla thought she saw the brute's bright eyes, or his gleaming teeth, and flinched away from nothing. Soon enough the swallowed her up and she hid herself within the twisting depths of the wood.
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