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“Here I come.”  The voice calls, curling around me the same way this fog does.  I think I have the best hiding spot ever, half under a big rock, half under a bush with leaves covered in splatters of reddish paint.  I wonder who would paint leaves. I hear my brother scream, he must have been found already. “Ha! I beat you!” I hear the soft crunch of feet on the grass, soft breaths, hand on my collar to pull me out.  “You got me!” The stains on the leaves drip down to join the stains on me.

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