Herbert's Side Story 8
The night was eerily silent as we crowded in the Keeper's tent, tense with the worry of what came next. We were surrounded by some of the most important-looking humans the Order had to offer. Soldiers with battle scars older than Zeke, mages who smelled like incense and burnt herbs, and grizzled war veterans who looked like they had fought wars with nothing but sticks of stale bread and abandonment issues.
I was perched in Zeke's arms, a potted knot of rage and indignation for today's proceedings. First, I'd been completely ignored after besting feral squirrels and had then learned that the only person I liked in this godforsaken place had been kidnapped.
Zeke was furious. Not his usual smoldering, under-the-surface anger. This was a full-on volcano about to erupt furiously. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought he might break his own teeth. His fingers were digging into the sides of my pot. I almost told him to ease up before he cracked my terracotta.
