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On foot Last we left Raymon, he had scrounged together some meagre gear and a sturdy spear and was about to hike north west toward the refugee center. Striking out across the field, Raymon headed toward the regional dump near the evac shelter. It wasn’t far as the crow flies, though not connected by road anywhere nearby. This is some form of otherworldly hound. Lean and hungry-looking, its twisted red flesh is stretched tightly across its misshapen, angular frame. Loping grotesquely along, its u...