Peter rolls his eyes, looking at Sarah, and whispers. “Power my ass. She just sniffed my hand like an animal.” He widens his eyes, giving Sarah an exaggerated smile.
They sit down. Peter picks at his thumbs, staring at the floor. Sarah looks around the small room. Jars hang from the ceiling full of dirt, weeds, herbs, and sludge. A foul odor comes from a pot in the fireplace. Tattered, tan materials cover the windows. There is a musky moldy wet essence to everything. Dust floats through the bits of light coming from the holes in the curtains.
Gammah goes behind a long red curtain to another room. The hut doesn’t look that big from the outside. Gammah mutters to herself. Glass clanks. Shattering and bumping ring out like she’s throwing things.
Peter sits next to Sarah on the edge of his
