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Despite himself, Thorn hesitated at the terrified voice behind him, but just for a moment. He took a few more determined strides into the great expanse of woodlands that formed his refuge, his home. This woman's problems were not his. |
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But with a sigh more like a groan, he gritted his teeth, clutched his rifle more tightly in his right hand, and, against his better judgment, pivoted back toward her just as the woman reached his side. |
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Grabbing his arm with surprising strength, she looked up at him with eyes the soft, clear green of the topside of a silver maple's leaves. Her fear radiated from them as though they spoke to him. |
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The top of her head rose just above his shoulder. She was a pretty woman despite being wet and unkempt, with a small, straight nose and a smooth complexion. Her lips, pale in her anxiety, were slightly parted. Her hair, strangely short and uncovered, hung in wet waves about her face. It seemed light in color. He wondered what shade it would be when dry. |
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