The sun dips low, bathing the forest in golden light as shadows stretch across the ground. The air is cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and the distant rustle of leaves hums in the stillness. As I gather firewood, the rough bark scraping my hands, a sharp crack of twigs breaks the quiet. My ears twitch, and I freeze, the logs slipping from my grasp. I scan the trees, the shadows now deeper, the forest unnaturally still, as if holding its breath.
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