#9. Swing
The woodsman’s face is pale. “This place is guarded by ghosts, my lord.”
“Do it,” comes the command.
The iron axe swings, biting deeply into a slender trunk.
An inhuman scream echoes across the clearing. Sap like blood oozes from the wound.
“Ghosts don’t scream,” fitzWilliam says calmly. “Strike again.”
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