It hasn’t stopped raining for several days; I think it’s winter.

I’ve been away since yesterday, and I have nothing to show for it.

I’m almost home now; I know that line of oaks.

There’s a trail of red. I’ll follow it and see what happens.

I’m not scared of death any longer.

I am getting closer to where I’m going. The smell fills the air.

I pull back the bushes. Dinner is served.

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