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Time was a slippery thing for Ghost since he’d began travelling with Old Crow.

He’d look away from a clearing for what felt like but a moment, and that once empty field would be flush with trees and littered with undergrowth.

Of course it was made more alarming watching things returned to the earth; a fresh kill reduced to bones and rot in mere minutes.

In the end he supposed they were the same thing.

How quickly something could become overgrown or food for the worms.

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