Compilation Of Short Stories
The forest drank the light. June pushed through veils of thorn and creeper, her booted feet sinking into the soft, rotting loam. The air was thick and cold, carrying the scent of wet earth and something else, something ancient and metallic. The stories called this place the Cursed Wood, a place where hunters did not return. June clutched the haft of her throwing axe, her knuckles white. She was not here for game. She was here for the beast, the shadow that was said to tear livestock and men apart with equal indifference.