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...he stared. There was a boy, a wooden boy. He stood on the sand, one leg stretched out as if caught in the action of taking a step. He didn’t look carved, but like he’d grown there. She went over to him and saw that his skin was bark, his limbs branches. He wasn’t built or made but looked more like a tree-trunk washed and weathered in the ocean, edges smoothed, the grain showing. He was not alive, his eyes stared unseeing at the waves and sand ahead of him. A statue of a boy, as if made by only natural processes of erosion and time.
Them?
She glanced all around sharply and gasped to see more of them. More wooden people of all shapes and sizes, arranged down the beach all looking toward the water, placed about fifty feet apart.
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