Aurelius stole onto a rocky outcropping above the buck, blades drawn, muscles taut, poised to leap. It was impossible not to acknowledge the hunter’s own unique nobility. Although Freydolf would never cater to the other man’s ego by telling him so, he’d often thought that this Aurelius—the one stripped of all his ruffles and refinement—was worth sculpting.
—MEADOWSWEET by C.J. Milbrandt