Owen heard it-the staccato trills of a stormy petrel, less a song than a sort of snarl. "There you are..." he sniffed and smiled, "You're mine." The camera clicked just before the bird dove out of sight, vanishing behind some rocks. He lowered his lens, and his face sank. The picture, he knew, would come out perfect. With a wall full of framed cover shots back home, the mud of
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