Zielle
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"How do you think a pack works?"
Milo looks up at me, the rusty clippers pausing mid-snip. His expression is one of mild surprise, curiosity flashing beneath the shade of his wide hat.
A breeze stirs the garden around us, carrying the scent of wet soil and blooming rosemary.
"You're suddenly curious because?" he asks, returning his attention to the overgrown hedge. Each trim comes with a soft snick, bits of green tumbling to the ground and sticking to his woven, brown gloves.
I shift my weight on the cobblestone path, my eyes wandering toward the taming quarters behind me. I've just left Ries there, with his untouched bowl of stew and that same hollow look in his eyes.
He barely speaks anymore, except to ask when he can leave this hellhole. His voice always cracks at leave, as though he doesn't quite believe he can.
