murder of one
#1
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Backdated to December 20th
The sky was gray, not very much unlike the trees around him. Had he not been able to see the color of his own coat, Tristan might have thought himself as colorblind. Everything here was black, white, or that dreary gray. He imagined this place might have once been beautiful, even though it looked fire-scarred. Most people, especially those who never leave home, will rarely experience any traumatic force of nature greater then a thunderstorm. Tristan was not one of those people. He had seen fire tear apart the ground and the sky. He had felt it tear up his back—even though time had healed that wound, and even though it was hardly visible in his current form.

Trotting along the forest floor, the wolf spared a glance skyward. A group of crows circled through the cold sky and landed on the branches of a nearby tree. His pace slowed and he came to a stop, studying the birds.


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