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NINETY-NINE | NEVERMORE

It was only after we’d left that I realised I had, yet again, forgotten to ask either Herb or Grandma Rosie for more information about the fox. I supposed that, for now, it wasn’t high on our list of priorities. 

The sense of foreboding was less heavy in the air as we crossed the herb garden, picking our way quickly through the dark. The little solar lamps glowed like moonshine amongst the bushes, but they did little to light our path. Not that any of us needed the light to see – it was a comfort more than a tool of use.

Once we were securely seated and belted in to my truck, Skye – from his position in the driver’s seat – gave me a gentle nudge. “Earlier,” he said, “you mentioned that creepy old poem. I don’t know what it means – I’ve never read the whole thing, I just recognised that one line.”

“What poem?” Kathrena asked.

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