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"I saw it," I replied, lowering my hand toward my pickaxe. "And I can confirm I didn’t like it."
The forest at night had a kind of silence that made you question whether your own footsteps were even real. Every creaking branch felt like a warning—or an ambush. Even the mule—usually dramatic—was now walking like it was apologizing to the ground.
The trail narrowed between ancient trees, their thick trunks twisted like broken spines. Moonlight barely slipped through the leaves ...
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