By the time we reached the other side of the camp, I was out of breath. Sweat coated my brow. My heart pounded. It came to a dead stop when I saw the grizzur. Its bearlike frame lay prone on its belly. Its massive body was covered in coarse cinnamon fur. Along the spine, jutting through that thick, wiry hair, were spikes as long as my arm. They were as white as snow and as pointed as the Guardian’s sword. They angled in all directions, some curving to the sides, others aiming straight. Was that how they survived the crux migrations? There’d be no picking up a grizzur from above, not with those
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