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... ain, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the distance. He didn’t move. He was listening.

Then he felt it.

Not the chief. Not yet. But another one. Quieter, lighter... — a scout, maybe. Dylan stepped back slightly, slipping between two mossy trunks, and raised his axe.

Seconds stretched into a heavy minute.

A figure passed. Small. Agile. Too young. And too nervous. It hesitated, turned its head... Dylan struck. Clean. Soundless. He caught the body before ...

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