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Mark Furlong

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The nimble beast flashed with frenzied speed through the dark, dense trees. With each violent step the sodden ground surrendered, causing him to falter, recover, and then falter again. Sharp, thorny branches sought out the vulnerable openings of Lathon’s sallet, raking flesh, and digging shallow, scarlet gullies into his arms. He desperately struggled to guide his steed through the thick underbrush with muscle memory and instinct guiding his way.

“Do you challenge?”...