These men killed mine, and for that, they have to die Bristlebrook is up in smoke, my brutes are dead, and Sam's camp is a powder keg begging for a flame. Injured and furious over their losses, the surviving hunters are preoccupied with their own problems. Their factions and allegiances. Their internal wars and pissing contests. The new world they want to forge. They don't look twice at their meek little...