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... , broken only by the squeaks echoing like war drums.
Zephyr’s smirk had long gone, replaced by a look that said, ’I still don’t understand what’s going on, but it’s not good.’
The elders and his siblings behind him had stiffened, while Raven merely slid his hands out of his pockets, whistling again—this time sharp and clear.
The next second, from the front ranks of the furry army, one squirrel stepped forward.
He was slightly bigger than the rest, his fur streaked ...
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