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Feb 22, 2026, 12:00 pm60 ptsI. Step where I step, he said, quick, quiet over oak root. The hushed path rose to meet him. By footfall and rifle glint, rustle of hoof and pulp of blood, he led me deep where the gut-shot buck had made its briary bed. Even from the shining back of his scalp, I knew his face, shame-shadowed at…
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