We made our way down the hill to the lake that lay the bottom of the valley like a dropped mirror. I knew, everyone seemed to know, that we would find the stag there. And we did. The deer was concerned as my dad had said, as Piers had said, as Shafeen had said, in water. He stood nobly at the edge of the lake, his legs disappearing below the surface, his reflection, on this clear autumn day, perfectly replicated in the water.
A beautiful day to die.
– Page 92, Chapter 12
S.T.A.G.S. by M. A. Bennett
Three blood sports.
One deadly weekend.
I turned the card over. “R.S.V.P. to who? There’s no name on it.”
You are invited to spend
Justitium at Longcross Hall,
at 5p.m. Friday.
There are some invitations you just shouldn’t accept. Greer MacDonald doesn’t know that. Yet.
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