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Wolves howled in the distance at the full, shining moon far above the lofty silhouettes of skeletal trees with sharp limbs that stuck out at periodically odd angles up and down the unnaturally straight trunks. Thorny brambles shook beneath their superiors from a soft eastern breeze. Tiny drops of dew no larger than a needle's eye shivered and fell in small puddles on the pine-strewn ground, seeping into the moist earth. A cloaked figure stumbled and fell into a previously unseen thicket of bushes with thorns drawn and ready.
Quickly, almost frantically regaining footing, the figure ran on, drops of crimson blood that seemed black in the midnight light trickling down and splattering onto the ground. The fabric of the cloak tore and left strips hanging in the brambles like ribbons, conspicuous evidence that the fugitive had no time to retrieve.
As the runaway's footsteps and heaving breaths faded away northward, more prints were being made- hoof prints. A large, ebony stallion paused while its rider leapt off its back and investigated the undergrowth. He smiled at the sight of cloth dangling from still-quivering branches.
They were close.
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