11-
The day drags like a shadow across my skin.
I walk into the kitchen expecting dinner, laughter, maybe the scent of something warm on the stove… but instead, the room feels hollow. My heart stutters.
Because there—curled on the floor at May’s feet—is Sandy.
She’s barely breathing.
Her fur is matted with sweat and earth, her body too thin, too still. I step forward, and my voice leaves me like a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“You know she’s dying?” I whisper.
May startles, her hands frozen mid-air as if she could somehow undo this with just a touch. Her lips part, eyes wide. “What? No. Can’t—can’t Mum heal her?”
Her voice breaks and I feel it inside my chest. A sharp twist. A single tear falls from my eye before I can stop it. I kneel beside Sandy and press a gentle hand to
