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The trees seemed to whisper their names, betraying their location of the hunted to the hunters. Gliding silently down the river, turned inky black with the fall of the sun, they didn't dare speak. For stealth was the only way they could escape the imprisonment they had been trapped in for the last three years. The mist shrouded them to their advantage but the dampness and chill was starting to seep into their bones. His nephew let out a small frightened and lonely sound so he grabbed the boys' hand for reassurance. In suppressed whispers he told the boy about adventure…
