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... tree stood. Its enormous trunk was slick with rain, its roots twisting across the ground like living serpents. He sat on one, pulled off his wet shirt, and tried to wipe water from his face, his skin was raw from grappling with the shape in the forest last night. His palms tingled from the broken memory: the shape of the figure, forest-born, shifting, its hand not attacking but reaching into his chest. That moment when he believed he might stop it with steel, but the blade shattered, the flesh ...
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