Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Sheppard.
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