The hunter waited, trembling. Across the glade, his younger sister whimpered into her gag.
It was worth the risk. Worth what his father would do if he found out. Jewels, gold, fame: all it took was the right bait.
There was a rustle in the undergrowth. Into the clearing stepped a unicorn, proud and snorting and priapic.
As he raised his crossbow he felt a horn snag his breeches. Felt it tear the worn fabric. Felt hot breath smelling of freshly cut grass. Heard a gentle snicker as the unicorn’s mate probed further. “First time for you too, farmer boy?”
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alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
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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loading="lazy"
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>