“Tough luck, Tortoise!” heckled Hare from the hilltop. “I might just take a nap. It’ll be a miracle if you make it here by dawn.”
Tortoise pressed on, inch by inch, beneath the setting sun. When darkness finally fell, he reached the sleeping hare.
Hare’s eyes opened. “Think you can win?” he said, smirking.
“Not without my lucky rabbit’s foot,” said Tortoise, unsheathing a knife from his shell. He sliced off Hare’s foot, ignoring his blood-curdling scream as he snatched the bloody limb and ambled toward the finish line. Hare hobbled behind before collapsing, splatters of crimson painting the hillside.
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alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Harbinger of Death by Jonathan L. Tolstedt"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Famine Man by Deborah Tapper"
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>