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The Foundling – by Carmen

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Stan Jacobson hurried through the woods. Night fell slowly, but he didn’t care to be caught out after dark. Nobody did. Night was the time of the wolves. And the great cats.

And the giants.

Stan shuddered. None of the townsmen had ever seen a giant, true. But they all knew the stories. They didn’t need the evidence of their eyes to warn them to take care.

Stan looked back to check on the dogs, but they knew their business. He smiled grimly. Lorri would be pleased, though she would worry. The sled sank deep in the snow under the weight of several great deer carcasses. The weight and snow made the journey difficult on the dogs, and the return journey took much longer than it had that morning. Even allowing for slow sunsets, he was cutting time close.

The loaded cart moved briskly through the underbrush. There was little sound, even though the wheels crossed over leaf and twig. Stan ran beside the dogs, pleased with the trip’s outcome. He’d been lucky, there was no doubt, and the dogs had furthered that luck, but there was no reason not to feel pleased. Not with the cart piled high with meat, and winter still weeks away.







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