The house sat in the middle of a serene lake in the veldt. In the first light of sunrise, he sat on the porch sipping coffee, looking out at the unspoiled wilderness.
Mist drifted above the water, forming ghostly shapes in the air. Jewel-toned birds pinwheeled through the air, and on the far shore, a tiger paced restlessly.
The door behind him slid open, and one of the other guests sat down beside him.
“You’re right,” she said. “This is beautiful. But I still think we should find someplace a little less remote for the writers’ retreat next year.”

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