-----Lyra-----
"Take this tray," one of the head cooks says, thrusting a large metal tray of roast potatoes towards me. "Will you manage?"
I take it without answering.
The question hardly feels worthy of responding to when I can throw an alpha over my shoulders. A tray of roast potatoes is child's play in comparison.
Before I can bite back, the angry older gamma is already turning away, barking another order at someone deeper in the kitchen. Around us, the whole place is steam, heat and noise. Pans clatter, oven doors open and slam, voices cross over one another, and hurried footsteps move over the floor tiles.
I carry the tray through it all and out into the corridor.
The change is immediate.
Cooler.
Quieter.
Still grand in the way the West Dean pack house always is, with its wid
