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Talis searched the steamy swamplands for prey, hoping to make his father proud, no matter what the cost. His father’s words echoed in his mind, “Your brother hunted big game when he was twelve.” Why did his words stain his mind like ink on a page? His brother had hunted with a team of men and merely managed to bounce his spear off a deer. Talis was thirteen now and though he’d tried, had been spurned by every hunting trip his father’s men had pursued. Lad, don’t want you dying like your brother, you’re the last son of the Storm family lineage, and all.
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