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... was out of shape. She barely registered the bark scraping her skin; she was too busy panting, every muscle in her body protesting loudly and repeatedly in several languages.

This. Was. Torture.

Or exercise.

She slid to the ground, wincing when her T-shirt snagged on the trunk. Damp earth and the spice of fallen maple leaves scented the clearing, pleasant but powerless against the wave of helplessness rising inside her.

Leaves really turn orange? she thought, twir ...

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