PREVIEW
... roots had begun to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a biological tomb. The thick, stagnant fog of The Wailing Woods, heavy with the scent of rotting moss and sulfur, could no longer mask the one aroma every predator in this forest craved: the metallic, salt-heavy tang of fresh hemoglobin mixing with the cloying sweetness of synthetic coolant.
Dayat sat slumped against the damp earth wall, his body a map of bruises and exhaustion. He cradled Dola’s mangled leg in his lap, his trem ...
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Epilogue
