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... bird called as if they didn’t exist but if Sarah’s eye balls could they’ll make all the needed sound with the way she was rolling the eyes around trying to catch something before it caught her.

No rustling of squirrels.

Just wind curling around trees like fingers.

Suddenly—

A blur of red burst from the trees.

No warning. No growl. No roar.

Just silence and violence.

The thing crashed through the underbrush like a storm: large, sinewy, wrong ...

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