With a fresh kill in tow, the hunter made his way back to camp through the snow-covered forest. The weight of the stag labored his every step. A cold snap hit. Sharp, biting winds whipped icy ...  [+]

Chuck always ends up waxing poetic around his trainees.   About how professional wrestling is a dance—a violent choreography of chokeholds and suplexes, timed to the tune of their bookers' ...  [+]

I picked the rod tip up and swung it back to eleven o'clock, then snapped my wrist. The line flew out over the water, unfurling. At its maximum length, it settled on the water's surface with hardly a ...  [+]