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... igures stood cloaked in darkness. Their armor was scratched, cracked in places, and stained with old blood. Clearly worn down from more than just the journey.

"They’ve got a good scout, I’ll give them that," one muttered, pacing restlessly. "No one’s left a clear trail in days."

"Good scout? Fool!" the leader snarled. "I don’t care how well they run. They won’t survive in this forest forever. If they haven’t already died, they will."

"But I swear," another said, his voice ...

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