Each line glowed with twisted ambition, reducing these living, breathing animals to trophies—something to be pinned down, photographed, and sold to the highest bidder. Wade closed the journal with a bitter taste in his mouth, unsettled by how quickly devotion had warped into cold, calculated greed.
Dread rippled through Wade. This campsite wasn’t just a retreat; it was a hunting outpost, designed to capture and profit from the forest’s creatures. For the first time, he noticed the leftover traces of blood near the tent. Anger flared in him, coupled with fresh concern about the white calf’s fate.